Gray Areas
by elphiegravity
Summary: Myka's job was important. She'd always put it ahead of everything else. She didn't have time to sit around and really think about her relationships very often. But up until then everything had been clear. Helena though, Helena was a gray area. Unlike the black and white pages Myka liked, she was a fuzzy mix, difficult to decipher.
1. Chapter One: Just a Game

**Author's Note:** Hey guys! Just a so-you-know, this might be updated on a slow basis, so be forwarned. There'a also a LOT of dialouge in this fairly short first chapter. But don't worry, usually my chapters get longer as I go, and trust me, there won't be quite this much dialouge in the future.

Chapter One

Just a Game

_You have learned something. That always feels at first as if you had lost something._

_-H.G. Wells_

"I think it's high time we had a game night," Pete announced as the exhausted team of agents came through the door to the BandB. Myka shot him an expression of tiredness. It was her own silent _I-don't-have-to-deal-with-this _look that Pete knew all too well_._

"Oh, come on!" Pete said, "All we ever do is sit around, watch TV," he hesistated, "with the exception of Mykes the bookworm, and then go to bed." Myka rolled her eyes.

"So?" Claudia asked, annoyed.

"So, we should do something fun for a change!"

"You're not gonna shut up until we agree, are you?" she said.

Pete grinned, bouncing slightly.

"Ugh, it's like living with a five-year-old," Myka groaned, plopping down on the corduroy sofa beside an already seated Helena. "Play with me, play with me!" she mocked in a little-kid voice, causing Helena to chuckle beside her.

"You're rather good at that," she said.

"What," Myka smiled, "impressions," she imitated H.G's British dialect jokingly. Her face melted into a natural smile that was pretty and relaxed.

"Hey now!" Helena said, whacking Myka with a pillow in the side softly, "it's only funny when you do it to Pete!"

"But you're laughing," Myka giggled, pointing right at Helena's reddened face.

"No I'm not!" she hid her face.

"My god, will you two quit flirting already?" Claudia teased, miming a gag.

"We were not flirting," they said simultaneously, and then burst out laughing again.

Claudia raised an eyebrow, "Sure you weren't."

"Guys, I thought we were gonna play a game," Pete whined.

"Sorry, sorry," Myka said through a fit of giggles. She ran a hand back through her wiry curls, gently pushing the knots out. HG looked at her, her holograph blue eyes light and airy. It was nice to take a break from all the seriousness for once. Just hanging around laughing together reminded her they were a family, through the scary and the ridiculous.

"How about charades?" Pete suggested.

"Oh no," Helena chortled, "Myka could never shut up for that long."

"Wha, excuse me?" Myka exclaimed, return whacking Helena in the side with the same pillow, "I don't talk when I'm reading!"

"Yes you do," HG rolled her eyes; "you make annoyed or admirational comments every six pages!"

Myka shook her head and sighed. It was a little bit true. She couldn't help it though, some things needed to be said.

"Okay, what about talking charades?" Claudia offered.

"Doesn't that defeat the point of the game?" Pete asked.

"No, it could be, like, imitations, and you have to guess the person."

"Oh, alright," Myka nodded.

"Oh, I'll go first!" Helena jumped up from the couch and stood in the center of the room behind the messy coffee table. She pulled a hair tie off her wrist and put her candescent black hair onto a loose bun. "Ahem," she cleared her throat. "War and Peace was an important movement in the realms of historical literature. In fact I do believe that Lee Tolstoy made a breakthrough in the minds of the Napoleonic century." She smirked, and Pete let out a loud snore. "If you need some personality clues I'm _very_ mature, and probably smarter than you." It was possibly the worst fake American accent any of them had ever heard, but they were all doubled over anyway. Helena smiled sarcastically.

"That might be the best Myka impression I've ever seen," Pete said.

Myka glared at him, and then Helena. "That wasn't funny." But she was chuckling anyhow.

"Oh yes it was and you know it," HG bantered, returning to her seat.

Myka yanked the elastic from her hair.

"Ow!" Helena yelped, grabbing her head. She looked to Myka on her left who was dangling the hair tie twisted with strands of dark hair from her forefinger and smirking. "That was a bit uncalled for." She ruffled her hair with one hand. Myka watched it fall into its natural wave.

"So, it's my turn then," Pete stood.

"I'm gonna get a drink," Claudia said, scuffling to the kitchen. "You guys want anything?" she hollered.

"I'll take a glass of whatever you're having," Myka yelled, she turned to Helena, "Do you drink?"

"I haven't in a while, but why not."

"I'll take a root beer," Pete said. They stared at him in disbelief and just shook their heads.

Claudia returned with three glasses of wine and a bottle of root beer. "Shame you won't be drinking Petey, I have a feeling this game'll be a lot more fun when we're all drunk." She said. Myka and Helena laughed and clinked glasses.

"Okay!" Pete said, "Hello, athank-ya, thank ya very much," he winked and pointed Myka.

"Oh, ah, you're that weather guy on channel seven!" Claudia yelled.

"No," Pete said, brushing a hand through his hair.

"You're William II," Helena said. They all looked at her in confusion. "Right, sorry," she said folding her hands, "not 1892."

"Could I get a peanut-butter and banana sandwich?" Pete tried.

"Oh!" Myka exclaimed, slamming down her glass a little too hard, "you're Artie at lunch time!"

Claudia spat out her drink in hilarity.

"No! I'm Elvis Presley!" Pete whined.

"Pfft, no you're not," Claudia said, "but nice try." They were all laughing so hard their cheeks burned a rosy color, and Myka and Helena were tipsily falling on top of one other in their giggles. HG didn't hold her alcohol nearly as well as Myka or Claudia, and had abandoned the drink about half way through. Pete sat back down in angry defeat.

"I don't like this game," Claudia mused from her curled up position in the armchair. "Let's play a different one."

"Like what?" Myka asked.

"Truth or dare," she announced, downing the last of her drink.

"Are you kidding? I haven't played that since like the third grade when Becky Cardwell dared me to put gum on Ms. Allen's chair," Pete said.

"Well then it's high time you played it again," Claudia grinned at him.

The game started and everyone listened intently, leaning in for emphasis. Making it overly serious was one of the best parts. It felt so childish, which made it almost funnier.

"Who was your first kiss?" Myka asked Pete.

"Oh god, Miranda Smith."

"Oh god what?" Myka asked.

"Well, she cut my lip open with her braces to start with," he said. They laughed ridiculously, and played for almost two hours. Myka revealed that she'd sprained her ankle at the only school dance her friends had ever dragged her to. Claudia had to eat a pickle dipped in mayonnaise (due to Pete's immature dare), and Helena had to admit to every law she broke in London.

When the clock numbers glowed a cyan 10:30 Claudia declared the last round.

"Okay, okay," she smiled wryly, "my last one is a dare for HG and Myka." She bounced her eyebrows. It wasn't particulary difficult to tell when Claudia was a little drunk.

Myka and Helena eyed each other nervously. It grew quiet, and the only sound was the humming of the fridge.

"I dare you two to kiss," she said, giggling at herself.

"What?" Myka gasped. Her skin had gone prickly and hot. Helena unconsciously rubbed a hand up her arm to her shoulder, avoiding eye contact. "Claudia I think you're really drunk," Myka answered uncomfortably.

"So are you," she laughed. They both chuckled a little more, but Myka's giggles harbored a bit of nervousness.

"But, HG didn't drink as much as us, so it isn't fair." Myka argued. _There was a way out of this. It was just a game. Just a game…_

"She hasn't had a drink in over a century, she's intoxicated enough," Claudia said wryly.

"Well, not necessarily." Myka looked at HG.

"Am I supposed to be this light-headed?" She asked, holding her head tightly. She appeared dizzy, and bit nauseated. She definitely hadn't had a drink in a while.

"Yep," Claudia said, "funny what 100 years'll do."

_Damn it HG! _Myka thought.

"So," Claudia said, "are you guys gonna kiss or what?"

Myka looked to Pete for support, but he was passed out in the recliner. So much for some partner backup. Still, there had to be a logical way out. Kiss HG? There were too many reasons that was a bad idea. Reasons she didn't want to dig up.

"Claudia, don't you think is taking it a little too far?" Myka asked, noticing that Helena had been rather quiet the whole time; which was odd, because normally she was full of opinions and not shy about sharing them. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe.

"No, I've done way worse than this before. Besides you two have been flirting all night."

"Have not!" They said in perfect synch for the second time.

"Oh my god, you're like the most in denial couple I have ever seen, just kiss_. It's only a game_," Claudia said. She tapped her fingers in the edge of her empty glass, smirking. Myka and Helena eyed each other awkwardly.

"I, ah," Myka stuttered. She'd just met this girl. Well, sort of. Just learned of her human existence in the present. Just learned of her gender. Just started interacting with her. How did that work really? You know _of_ someone, but you don't know them. Still, it's a little different when you meet someone whose supposed to be a man, and a public figure, and dead.

She examined HGs face. In front of her was the author and inventor she'd admired for years, the woman who proved that brilliance and kick-ass came in a pretty small and definitely female package. She was fearless, and she stuck her neck out. Of all the consequences she could and had faced still she was strong. But she had suffered loss too, of great proportions. The Victorian woman trapped in different time sat before her now, shapely black hair framing her rather dazed face, pale and contemplating.

Myka was still thinking, as she pretty much always was, when Helena leaned in abruptly, and took the dare. At first Myka's eyes shot wide open in fear and confusion and hostility toward Claudia. But Helena's lips were soft, velvety even, and oddly soothing, as if they could somehow reassure her. She closed her eyes lightly, and accepted the grasp of Helena's free hand. It was short, but not absurdly. There was nothing more than the mere taste of skin. They withdrew; each quickly blinked their eyes open. They looked at each other for a moment. Myka looked away, though, for fear Helena might read her, at the moment, complex emotions.

"Well, it's pretty late, I'm gonna…" she stuttered a bit and walked swiftly down the hall to her room and shut the door. It was uncomfortably quiet for a minute or so. Thick silence hung blatantly in the air.

"You two are so in love," Claudia said to Helena, who sat stiff and flustered on the couch.

Myka's room was fairly good size, square shape, with bookshelves plastering most of the walls. Her desk was littered with manila envelopes and assorted pens. The light from her one lamp was dim and didn't even reach all the corners or the room. But it was home.

Myka sat on her bed, knees tucked up to her chest, thinking. She let out a breath. _What had just happened?_ It was blurry, and quite frankly she wished it could stay that way. Helena. Helena G. Wells. Who was she? No, who was she to _Myka?_ Inventor? Author? Agent? Psychopath? Partner? Friend? Something more? No! It made her head hurt.

Myka's job was important. She'd always put it ahead of everything else. She didn't have time to sit around and really think about her relationships very often. But up until then everything had been clear. Helena though, Helena was a gray area. Unlike the black and white pages Myka liked, she was a fuzzy mix, difficult to decipher.

"Myka? Myka are you okay?" Claudia knocked on the door.

Myka sat perfectly still and silent, praying for her to go away.

"She must've fallen asleep already," she heard Claudia say, though she was certain Claudia knew otherwise. "I'll talk to her in the morning."

Myka listened carefully to the echoy footsteps move away until she's counted three doors closed. She exhaled. The morning would come, but she dreaded it. What was she supposed to say? Helena and Claudia knew her a little too well to hide her emotions, but right now they weren't finite. And that was more than a bit unnerving.

"Myka!" The door made a sharp noise with every knock. "Myka, you're going to be late. And you know Artie has a cow every time we show up late." Silence. Claudia sighed. "Don't make me pick this lock because you know I will."

Myka groaned. She opened the door a crack. "Tell Artie I'm sick." _She was sick. Sick to her stomache. Confused, sweaty and flighty. That was sick, wasn't it?_

Claudia stared at her, "You are not sick, and you are skipping work over a game. Your job is too important for that."

_I know!_ Myka's thoughts screamed at her. But still. Work next to Helena all day, especially with her so new to the team? It made her stomach twist, and her face for that matter. She squeezed the doorknob unconsciously.

"Listen, Myka," Claudia eased through the doorway and shut it almost all the way, but not quite, "It was a game. No one is going to bug you about it; no one is going to incriminate you for it. It didn't mean anything."

_It didn't mean anything? _That was exactly the problem. It _shouldn't _have meant anything.

"I was kidding and Pete was asleep for god sake! And I'll bet you HG is just as embarrassed. But Myka Ophelia Bering does not let embarrassment ruin her, or you would have never gotten over that dance all those years ago," Claudia chuckled.

Myka stared at her for a moment. She was right. Embarrassment didn't bother her. But this was not embarrassment; it was more confusing, more risky.

"I'll be ready in ten minutes," Myka said quietly.

Claudia smiled sympathetically, "Just be her friend. A friend might be exactly what she needs right now. Whatever you do, don't shut her out."

"Yeah, okay," Myka dug a few fingernails into her wrist. _Be her friend. _

She pulled a tank top over her head, and quickly swallowed two Advil. Her head was already starting to hurt. She pulled the navy colored sleeves of her blazer over the nail marks on her wrist. Her breathing was quick and uneven and her thoughts continued to race. But Claudia was right. She just had to take some deep breaths, and act normal. It was just a game. Wasn't it?


	2. Chapter Two:Do I make you uncomfortable?

**Author's note: **Whew guys! I said it'd be slow coming! This chapter is not my favorite, but hey! It's done. For those of you who started following early you may want to notice that every chapter begins with an H.G. Wells quote (yes I added one to last chapter!) Also, FF will not register asterisks so none of the scenes are seperated as I'd like, but you can imagine them... Hope you like!

Chapter Two

Do I make you uncomfortable?

_If you fell down yesterday, stand up today._

_-H.G. Wells_

"Hey Artie, what's the scoop?" Claudia slid into her chair and spun around to her desk, resting her elbows firmly on the table. "Any pings yet?"

"Actually, no." Artie grunted, "But there's someone here who needs to see you. A former agent."

"Good Morning Artie," Myka entered calmly, pulling on shirt sleeves. She'd evened herself significantly. Work was work, everything else came later.

"Mmhmm," Artie looked down and fiddled with some papers. Myka clenched her fists. _Deep breaths._

They walked into the common room. Pete and HG were seated at the table already. Helena was absent-mindedly fiddling with her hair; she did that a lot. Her gaze was unsettled, definitely not her usual, but she snapped out of it when Artie and Claudia entered. Claudia sat beside her, trying to keep busy with her papers.

"Am I making you nervous?" HG whispered.

"Ah, no," Claudia hesitated, "no, it's just,"

HG searched her for an answer, but Claudia couldn't seem to find one.

"I'm, I'm sorry about…"

She raised a hand, "Don't."

Claudia nodded.

"Is there something the two of you would like to share with class?" Artie asked in a bitterly sarcastic tone.

"No," they chorused a little too quickly.

"I was just ah, asking a question," Helena fumbled.

"I see, well save it for your own time," he said. Myka felt her fingers ache from clenching them. It wasn't fair; she deserved a second chance. Everyone did. Hadn't she proven herself enough? In the past weeks she'd proved herself more of an agent than anybody else. Myka had never met anyone so loyal to the Warehouse and its cause. She'd saved Claudia, she'd saved Myka, wasn't that proof enough that she deserved at least a chance?

Suddenly a short, pale woman appeared behind Artie, "You are still the people who hunt artifacts, yes?" she asked.

"Right on time," Artie said, leading the elderly woman to the table. "Team this is Rebecca. Rebecca these are our agents, Agent Bering and Agent Latimer, and this is our tech guru Ms. Claudia Donnavan." They waved pleasantly. He stopped his glance at HG.

"And who's she?" Rebecca asked, smiling warmly at an uncomfortable Helena.

"She's the new girl, not important to what you're here for. She'll just watch I assume." He glared at HG, daring her to protest. But Helena was fairly tough, and didn't seem to take shit from anyone.

"I can help," she tried.

"No, that'll be alright,"

"But I don't mind," Rebecca said

"It's not necessary,"

"Artie I need to talk to you," Myka interrupted calmly as she could manage. He hesitated. "Now," she insisted.

They walked out into a connected hallway, Myka trying her best not to stomp. Her blood was boiling. Artie was never this insensitive. The Warehouse was a family; he couldn't continue treating her this way.

"What do you want?" He asked.

"I want to know why you're being so rude to Helena."

"Oh, _Helena_ is it? Are you two best friends now?" He mocked.

_ Best friends, something like that. _"Artie the regents have reinstated her. We are a family here, a big, giant, strange family, but a family, and you cannot keep treating her like an outsider!" _Doesn't she already feel like one enough?_

"I can do whatever I want, and you can't tell me about it. I don't trust her, and you shouldn't either. She's dangerous Myka."

"A lot of things in this world are dangerous Artie," Myka softened her tone and took a step closer, trying to close the gap of tension between them. "There are thousands of artifacts behind these very walls that are magical and fantastic and beautiful and _dangerous._ Maybe HG is like that. Beautiful and fantastic and…"

"Dangerous," he asserted.

"Artie you're being childish."

"No Myka, you're being childish, protecting her like the new girl on the playground. This isn't a playground. That woman doesn't belong here. She's a villain not an agent."

"_That woman,_" Myka shuddered, feeling her anger begin to boil again, "has a name. And I refuse to call her the villain, because she isn't one. Second chances Artie, you got one."

His face contorted in that way it did when he didn't want to admit he was wrong. Myka took a few breaths. "I still don't trust her," he said finally. Myka opened her lips to say something more, but his Farnsworth buzzed. "What?" he demanded. Myka waited while he spoke. "I have to go, ping alert in Delaware."

"I'll come with you!" She said.

"No!" he yelled, too loud, "I mean, I'll go alone." He walked heavily toward the door.

Myka stood stone still, like moving an inch might shatter the comforting silence, "You can't just freeze me out because I believed in her and I said so," Myka said quietly as he reached for the doorknob. He stopped for a moment, and then left without saying anything more.

"Hey Mykes! Where's Artie?" Pete asked. They were gathered around some old grainy photographs strewn across the table.

"Ping in Delaware," she said, sliding into a chair to examine the pictures.

"He didn't need any help?"

"Apparently not," It got quiet for a moment, "So, what can we do for you Rebecca?" she asked, annoyed at the uneasiness in the room.

"It was many years ago. A man named Jonah Ross," she handed Myka a folder with articles and photos clipped to the inside, "He was the editor of Where and When magazine, and a murderer. Killed three of his female interns."

Myka looked up, "And you think he used an artifact."

"Somehow he altered their bodies. All we could find at the site were shards of some glass-like material. Whatever it was it shattered easily."

"Sounds like an artifact," Myka chewed on her lip.

"We were never able to find out how he did it,"

"We?" Pete asked.

"My partner Jack and I. We were hot on the case but, well, I'm not sure actually. We just blacked out. And that day was when he killed those girls."

"You just blacked out? For how long?" HG looked at her across the table intently.

"22 hours and 19 minutes I believe, why?" Rebecca looked puzzled.

HG ran a hand up her arm in that way she did when she was hiding something. "I, um," she stuttered, "I think I might know why."

The archives were dark and damp, spider silk clung to every corner and crate and shelf they walked past. Myka swatted the sticky strands from her hair. She wasn't keen in the idea of going behind Artie's back right now, he was upset enough with she and Helena, this could only make it worse.

"I know this is your section, but why are we here again?" Pete asked.

"Ah! Here it is," HG wrenched open a large crate, smiling at herself. She turned, "My time machine."

Myka laughed despite herself, "You're kidding right? It was a great novel Helena but…"

"It doesn't work like the one I wrote of. That's a physical impossibility," she stated. Myka rolled her eyes. _Of course!_ "No, I was intrigued by the idea of transporting consciousness. You know, one's mind." She grinned.

"So why didn't you write about that?" Claudia asked.

"Darling, I wrote about what I couldn't create. See, what was impossible in gears and electricity became possible in ink and parchment. Writing was my gateway to the inconceivable." Her gaze turned foreign for a moment. Myka stared at her. She was so still when she was remembering. She was wounded by something for her past, something terrible and crippling that Myka didn't know or understand, but she wanted to.

"Hey guys, get a load of this note," Pete grasped a sticky note he peeled from the side of the box.

_Pete, it's Pete. Hi Pete! _The handwriting changed. _Myka, it's well, Myka. Listen, you have to go back in HG's machine, it's the only way to secure the artifact for Rebecca, just remember…" _ The ink trailed of messily.

"You're kidding," she said, feeling everyone's eyes dig into her. "I'm not going back in time," she asserted. Silence. "I'm not!"

She groaned. She was gonna have to do it.

They began unpacking the machine and assembling the pieces. The agents tried their best not to giggle, but it truly did look like it was yanked straight from a science fiction novel.

"If I may remind you all that you work in a massive warehouse filled with magical and lethal artifacts that if I do recall can turn either of you crazy in two seconds flat," Helena said snidely, staring down Myka and Pete.

"Well she's a little wise-assy isn't she?" Pete whispered.

"Not particularly darling," she turned, "But an excellent listener." She raised her eyebrows as she finished setting up the last piece of equipment. "Okay, all set."

HG got them properly hooked up and stepped back a bit.

Claudia laughed, "You know, millions of people right now are sitting in cubicles programming menial software and dying of boredom. You two are hooked up to a time machine invented in the 1800s by H.G. Wells, who happens to be very much still alive and a woman."

They smiled. "So HG, is this, um, safe?" Pete asked.

She grinned, leaning on a large lever, "Well, I certainly hope so." She gave Myka a reassuring look, and thrust the lever down.

"Whoa, I always thought the past would be in black and white or something," Pete said, examining his suede suit coat and slacks. Myka turned to examine her own reflection in the glass. She was wearing a tight skirt suit and uncomfortable shoes, and her hair was pulled up in a clean bun.

"No, no. Actually I heard that by the 60s they had Technicolor in the fancier offices," Myka said smugly.

"Oh," Pete nodded. Myka slapped a hand to her face.

"Let's just find out where this Jonah Ross might be hiding okay?" she said slowly. He nodded.

They began going sifting through the files littering their desks. It was much like Myka's desk, manila folders, paper clips, novels, just covering the surface.

"Hey Pete, look at this," she bent over pulling a newspaper out of the drawer. Pete giggled. "What?" she asked.

"You look funny as Rebecca."

"Oh and you're a regular Jack, just shut up and look at this," she handed him the print.

"I don't get it. It's just a boring old newspaper. Sports, community, jobs, kittens in trees…"

"Pete exactly! Look at the date at the top."

"July 16, 1961," he looked up, "The day Ross's wife was killed."

"This guy was crafty; he must've found a way to keep the news under-wraps." They'd gone through every paper in town, nothing. It was like instead of being murdered she just vanished. "Maybe he, Ow!" Myka clutched her head, a sudden shooting pain hitting her.

"Mykes!" Pete yelled, "Ouch!" He grabbed his own head.

_Good, it isn't just me,_ Myka thought.

"What's doing this?" Pete struggled.

"The machine," Myka breathed. A cold shiver ran over her. _Come on HG, we're gonna be fine, you're gonna fix this._

"Mykes, you don't think…"

"It'll be fine, let's go," she said uneasily. Helena had a job to do, and so did they.

"Fuck," Helena swore.

"Whoa, sweet old English lady has a vocabulary," Claudia smiled. HG glared at her.

"There's been some sort of power surge."

"So?" Claudia asked nervously. Pete and Myka would be fine thought, right? She watched as HG frantically played with the dials.

"That's all I can do. You need to find out what caused that power fluctuation and fix it!" She yelled.

"Wha-, me?" Claudia said, "Why not _you_? If I do recall it is in fact _your_ machine and…"

"CLAUDIA!" She interrupted. "I have to stay and watch them; if anything goes wrong I can handle it. Besides, you know your way around here, I don't." They were both breathing heavily. Claudia shook her head and ran for the fuse box, her steps echoing down the hall of the archives.

"Come on Myka, stay strong in there," Helena grabbed one of her motionless hands and hung her head. _No one else is going to die on my watch. _

"Myka, what if she can't fix this?"

"She can! I can feel it."

"Myka-"

"Trust me." She had to trust herself. Somehow, someway Helena was telling her everything was going to be fine.

They ran down the street, Myka struggling in Rebecca's heels. She glanced at her watch. They had five minutes to get to the front lawn of Mr. Ross, or they'd be too late to get any information, but sprinting with such intense pressure in her head was difficult and made her furiously dizzy. She was sure Pete must've felt the same way, but he was trying to keep to himself. Myka collapsed briefly.

"Mykes! Mykes, be careful," he said, helping her up.

"I'm fine," she shook off his grasp, "I'm fine, it's fine, we're going to be fine," she said. Pete sighed anxiously, but what could he do? She was right, they had to keep going and trust H.G. Wells. However that very sentence only made him more scared.

HG refused to let go of Myka's hand the entire time it took Claudia to get back. Keeping her somehow tied to the outside world was key, awkward as it felt.

"I fixed it," Claudia panted, running in.

"Good," HG looked down at the two unconscious agents.

"Um, are they gonna?"

"Yes," her eyes met Claudia's; they were burning with a fierce determination.

Claudia decided it might be best to get her mind off Myka and Pete, "So, you said you went back in this thing once; where did you go?"

Helena's eyes fell even more.

"I mean, you must've built it for a purpose. Go to watch the writing of your favorite book? Make out with Archimedes?"

"No, actually," she swallowed, all of it flooding back to her. The torturous reason she'd ever built the damned machine. _Christina!_ Her own voice echoed in her head. She'd always been in control, she'd always been tough, she'd always been able to take anyone down, except the one time it really mattered. She felt herself want to cry again. "My, my daughter," she managed.

Claudia's face fell, "Oh."

"She,"

"Myka told me. You don't have to." It was silent, HG fought against her tears brutally. She was too new to show weakness.

"You know, I imagine losing a child, I mean, it must have been the worst pain a person could go through."

Helena laughed acheily, "No, what I did to those men who killed her, once I tracked them down, _that_ is the worst pain a person can go through." Her fists were clenched so tightly they shook. That day had crushed her reputation, but the irony was that she couldn't have cared less. She'd just wanted her daughter back. She remembered crumbling on the empty floor of the apartment shaking. Her partner had left after trying to convince her that mutilating and beating the men who'd taken Christina's life would never bring Christina back. She'd snapped at him bitterly and ran to her home, locking the door behind her. He'd left shortly afterward.

Claudia was obviously at a loss for words, which seemed to be for the better. Sometimes silence is the only route out.

"You know, I built this machine thinking I could change the course of history," she smiled, though tears still fell, "But the ink with witch our lives are inscribed is indelible."

"Pete no!" Myka screamed. "It won't work! Remember what HG said!" She reached for his wrist but it was too far away.

"I know, I know, but we have to try! If we can give Rebecca just the smallest reasoning as to what happened, maybe she won't feel…"

Myka got a hold of him, "We can't change the past Pete," she said staring into his eyes.

He nodded.

Myka bolted up from her seat, "Claudia? Helena?"

"Oh man do I have a headache," Pete said.

HG smiled, relief visibly washing over her as the tension slowly released its grip on her body. Suddenly she remembered she was still holding Myka's hand, she let go quickly. "I'm, ah, I'm glad you're alright."

"Yeah," Myka said, "me too."

Back at the B&B Myka decided to clean off her desk. In some way subconsciously she reasoned it was probably her wanting to declutter her mind not her papers, but she did it anyway. As she started reshelving a few abandoned novels there was a knock on her door.

"Come in," she hummed, carefully sliding _A Farewell to Arms_ into its place.

"Good book," came the unmistakable accent.

She turned, "Helena, hi." She itched her arm through her sleeve. Damn it why was she so obvious whenever she got nervous? Helena's eyes darted around, which signaled her she felt the same way.

"Sit," Myka motioned to the bed. HG Nodded and sat beside her. "So?"

"I thought, you know, we should talk. About…"

"Oh," Myka's shoulders tightened. Her hands got sweaty in that way she loathed. "Umm,"

"Look I know that Claudia seems to think you're just embarrassed. But, that doesn't seem to me the problem." Silence. Myka wrung her hands. This woman was going be the death of her. Privacy of thought even became irrelevant! How much could she see?

"You know Myka, we can pretend like this never happened. I'm fine either way. But I get the feeling like you won't let it go, or rather it won't let you go, am I right?"

She nodded barely.

"In London I knew a woman, Regina, you remind me of her in many ways."

Myka looked up.

"She was tough and smart, brilliant actually, but inside there were conflicts just constantly swarming her. Used to give her the most dreadful headaches. But she would've never ever told anyone about them."

"Then how did you know about it?"

"Because I knew her." The look in her eyes frightened Myka just a little.

"Look I don't, I don't know you alright? I don't know who you are; I don't know what you want,"

"I don't want anything!" HG laughed, "I'm Helena, I'm a fellow agent, and I all I came to you for was to clear things up."

Myka shook her head, "I just don't know who you are."

"I just said…"

"To me!" She yelled, "To me." There it was, it wasn't completely clarified, but bright as HG was Myka was sure she'd find meaning. Suddenly she wished she'd kept her mouth shut.

HG leaned back on the headboard, "Myka, relationships are complicated to title or categorize, and trying to do so will only make you insane. I mean take it from me; I've experienced them in two separate centuries!"

"Well you skipped the 20th so…" Myka smiled, desperatly trying to lighten the heavy air with some dry humor.

Helena chuckled, "Braggers can't be choosers." They laughed for a while. It felt good to pretend like the conversation wasn't exceedingly uncomfortable.

"I think you're a remarkable woman Myka Bering. For the love of god, don't let me ruin that." She tapped her lightly on the shoulder and left.

Myka sat slightly disoriented. Who the hell was this woman?


	3. Chapter Three: Your Worst Nightmares

**Author's note:** Hey ho! I've been typing rather manically on this chapter. It is definitely the best one so far. Pain from the past is revealed, and let's just say it isn't a happy fairytale. Yes, it's pretty long, but yes it's worth the read. Nothing boring or over-detailed, or repetitive. I promise. Hope you like!

Chapter Three

Your Worst Nightmares

_"History is a race between education and catastrophe"_

-H.G. Wells

_"What can you do about it? You can't Bering, you can't. You'll never be able to save everybody; you're too busy trying too hard." _

Flash. The light seemed brighter than usual, but she tried to fight anyway. Wait, now where was she? A tall, brawny kid had a guy shoved up against a brick ally wall. His hair was honey colored and he looked like a frightened little kitten. Shit, she'd seen this before.

_"No stop!" _she screamed. Will hadn't done anything wrong. _Hit me!_ She thought. _Just don't hit him!_

_"Oh look who came to save you," _he grinned.

_"Myka!"_ the boy yelled.

_"Myka? What a dumb name."_

She could see his whole plan. Where his hand's fell, where his eyes were. But adrenaline coursed fiercely though her making her reaction less than ideal. She threw blind punch after blind punch, but no avail other than getting herself knocked to the pavement. Loose pebbles dug into her palms as she tried to push herself up.

_"Didn't your father ever tell you that pretty little girls like you don't do the fighting?" _he sneered, elbowing Will back against the wall and tearing part of his shirt sleeve. Myka's blood boiled with a sickening heat, prickling over her skin. She felt her fists tense. He'd turned back to Will, clearly he had the notion that she stayed down. Clearly he was wrong. She knocked him into the wall with a terrible banging sound of his head smashing against it. She shoved an elbow into his right kidney until he yelped.

_"Pretty little girl my ass,"_ she said.

Flash.

_"Come on, you can do more."_

_ "Allison that's not a good idea," _Myka warned.

_ "Loosen up Myka," _she said, downing another shot.

_"Myka? What kind of name it that? You're father a geologist or somethin'?," _One guy asked.

_"Haha, good one,"_ Allison giggled tipsily, _"Want one?" _She offered a glass to Myka.

"_No thank you,"_ she said, watching the situation unfold. It was going for trouble that was obvious.

_"Hey, you wanna come back to my room?"_

_ "Okay," _Allison slurred.

_"Alli, no, you're really drunk, just come back to the room,"_ Myka pleaded.

_"Noooo," _she whined, _"You're such a party pooper."_

She yanked her aside, "_Listen brainiac," _she hissed, _"All that guy wants is a way into your pants."_

Allison wretched out of her grip, _"You're wrong."_

She left of the arm of some guy, with three others following. Myka took some breaths. _Maybe you should just leave her be. _She walked back in the direction of her dorm, facing the cool night wind. Just as she turned the corner a scream echoed behind her. _Allison._ She ran as hard as she could, feet pounding the path as she come into view of the four guys surrounding her.

_"I said no!"_ she yelled to the apparently dominant one, trying groping her. Myka shoved him aside.

_"She asked you to stop."_

He laughed, and someone grabbed her from behind. _"Care to join us?" _He locked her arms painfully. She tried to assess the situation; she was good at that much at least. One behind at such-and-such an angle, three here.

_"Actually, no,"_ she smiled, and in a blink wrapped her left lag around the man behind and dropped him, threw a few high kicks and punches, and managed to get three of them down. The fourth came up behind her and before she could spin around clocked her hard on the side of the head. Her head clouded for a moment and she struggled to regain clear vision, but still she fought back. Blood dripped down the side of her head. She knew the only to drop this guy would be to catch him off guard. She threw a fake punch, missing, opening up her right side for his own throw. As he swung to take the bait, she countered, grabbed his wrist and flipped him over her back. He fell, but managed to jam his knee into her ankle in the process. She crumpled to her knees, pain shooting through her ankle. After regaining her composure she stood weakly, and lifted the quivering Allison from the grass.

_"Myka I'm so sorry,"_ Allison whimpered, examining Myka's limp walk and bloody forehead.

_"It's fine, just maybe next time you'll listen to me."_

Flash.

_"Right this way Mr. President,"_ The street was damp and quiet, dusk had fallen. However the quiet was a bit unexpected. They got the man-of-the-hour safely it the limo and watched it drive away.

_"Nice work agent,"_ Sam hive-fived her.

_"You take this job so seriously," _she joked, but the sentiment was still there. The secret-service meant everything to her. Saving lives, protecting people from the wrongs she'd grown up viewing day after day. Sam was the best partner she could have asked for. He took her seriously, he didn't baby her, but he still cared.

_"We make a good team," _he smiled. His eyes had the most wonderful glint. Myka couldn't help but smile back, but it cut off.

"_What is it?" _he asked.

_"I heard something."_

_ "Like what?" _he asked.

_ "I don't know, but," s_he didn't finish. A man had burst out of the shadows where he'd been lurking and aimed his gun at her. The familiar clicking sound of a gun loading filled her ears. She instinctively raised her hands. _"Who are you?"_ she asked. Her eyes darted to Sam, beckoning him to get a hold on his own weapon.

_"Doesn't matter. I know all about you."_

She had to buy more time, "_How? Do you know my name?"_

He fumbled.

_"Wise ass, it's Myka by the way. Guess we should get to know each other and all seeing as we're in such an interesting position."_

_"Ah yes, Myka. That name always got me. Are you into rocks or something?"_

_"Do we have to do this now?"_ she huffed.

He grinned, calculating something. She examined is eyes, that look, that posture, wait, no! _"No!" _ she yelled, but it met the moment he'd already timed. Just as Sam had pulled his gun the man had turned and shot him straight through the head. The noise was deafening and Myka felt her insides rot. He fell like a ragdoll and crumpled, twitched for a second and then everything went still.

Tears wet her eyes as everything registered. It'd all gone so fast. That man come for her, but clearly he'd known watching Sam get killed would be worse pain than dying herself. She couldn't help but shiver. _Sam, no._ She wanted to kneel beside him, hold his hand, cry, apologize, but she couldn't. She'd somehow managed to pull her own gun for protection and had locked eyes and gunpoints with him.

_"What can you do about it now? You can't Bering, you can't. He's dead. You'll never be able to save everybody; you're too busy trying too hard." _

_"You sick bastard," _she said spitefully, hiding the sting of his words. _He knows that's all I want. "Why are you doing this?"_

_"Because it'll kill this perfect little life you've built for yourself."_

_"But how do you…"_

The reinforcement officers arrived and had the man cuffed and against the wall before Myka even had a chance to blink. But he was still grinning. _"You can't save everyone. And those you love most are in the worst danger."_

She took careful breaths as they searched him for weapons and covered Sam's body with a sheet.

_"Who the hell are you?" _She breathed. _And how do you know so much?_

The dusk faded to light, and suddenly she was alone in a wide street littered with water stains. The normality of city noise flooded her with pin pricks of relief.

_"Myka_," a voice tasted the name behind her,_ "what a beautiful name."_

She awoke with a start. The clock on the side table read 4:30. She ran a hand through her knotted hair. Sweat stuck her night shirt to her back. A nightmare, sure, but it's all happened. High school, college, the service. All eerily the same. Fighting. Fighting for the person she loved. _Sam._ She'd tried for years to forget his death, blamed herself all that time. Even after everyone had tried to convince her it wasn't her fault. She'd spent so long trying to find that man, after he'd escaped a maximum security prison only a week later. But he'd vanished for good it seemed.

She slid into a bathrobe and tip toed to the washroom. The water was cool and calming on her hot skin. She stared into her own tired eyes in the medicine cabinet mirror. Her skin had faded to a frightened and almost sickly grey. All of it made sense. The tension of spending your life trying to save everybody, only to be deliberately thrust into an impossible-to-win situation. It should all make sense, right? She was rational enough to realize that dreams sometimes brought back old and painful memories that you most often think are forgotten. But one of those things wasn't like the other.

"Helena," she whispered. _What was she doing there?_

x x x

The scent of Claudia's famous banana pancakes seeped through the dark cracks in Myka's doorframe. She rubbed the fatigue from her eyes and switched on the bedside lamp. Soft yellow light flooded the room, though it didn't reach every corner. After taking a few careful sips from her water glass she dressed and walked into the breakfast nook.

"Hey look who it is!" Pete announced, wrapping an arm around her. "You're up late, even for a Saturday."

She shrugged, "Didn't sleep well."

"For my favorite bookworm," Claudia slid a pile of pancakes in front of her. They were delicious, and usually Myka would've gladly started eating, but somehow food didn't appeal to her right then. She smiled sympathetically, "I think I'll just have some coffee. Is Artie around?" On most occasions he came by on Saturdays for breakfast.

"Mmph, no, he's at the Warehouse, some paperwork I guess," Pete said through a mouthful of pancake.

"Thanks," she said, pulling on a jacket, "I think I'm gonna go find him." She opened the door, "Wait. Where's HG?"

"In my room, deconstructing my cell phone most likely," Claudia said.

She nodded, smiling a little, and stepped out into the mourning drizzle.

"Artie?" she called, poking her head into his office. He was sifting through a stack of papers on his desk. No answer. "Artie!"

"Oh sorry," he grunted, "didn't hear you…"

She grimaced, "We have to talk about this."

"What is there to talk about?" he demanded, slamming a folder down on the desk. "You went behind my back on official Warehouse business!" he took a breath, "But she's an agent now. You won."

"Artie I didn't 'win' anything."

He sighed, "I know. It's just," he fiddled with a few more papers, "there's something not right about her."

"Look," Myka said, crossing the room to stand beside him, "I know McPherson betrayed you alright. I know _he_ debronzed her, but that doesn't make her inherently a traitor too."

"I know," he whispered, "I know. It's just so hard to trust her. I care about you guys! Do you understand the constant anxiety of trying to keep you all safe?"

_"What can you do about Bering? Nothing. You'll never save everyone." Blam, silence. Stillness._ She shuddered, nodding barely, "Yeah. I do."

"I just wish she could be clearer about her intentions. Not so mysterious. It makes me, anxious. I don't know how to feel about her!"

Myka laughed dryly, "You're not alone."

"Huh?" Artie asked.

"I mean, look Artie," she said, more serious this time, "Sometimes I wish that everything could be simpler. Black and white. Good and Evil. But the world isn't like that," she placed a hand on his shoulder, "It's filled with gray areas. And whether or not I like that, I can't change it." She finished and there was silence. "Claudia made pancakes. If you want I bet there's still some left," she said. "I'm heading to the library for the day, buzz if you need anything." With that she walked, confidently as possible, from the room and headed for the Warehouse library.

x x x

She tapped her fingers on the page subconsciously as she read. The soothing silence only interrupted by the flick of a page enveloped her, calming her unsettled nerves. The musty smell of old books filled her breath and she looked up occasionally at the dust dancing in the filtered sunlight from the eastern window.

She flipped to the next chapter in _Little Woman._ She'd read it an uncountable number of times, it just had a way of clearing her mind; and wasn't that what she needed right now? But suddenly the book vanished from under her fingertips. It just sort of disintegrated. And that's when Myka remembered that the Warehouse library was irritatingly self-aware. Sometimes, she really missed normal, boring libraries.

"Hey!" she protested to the empty room. "I was reading that!" A book reappeared on the table in front of her. Only, it wasn't _Little Woman._ A huge, dusty covered book with the word _Love _etched into the front was there instead. "Oh, haha, nice! Annoying little self-aware prankster," she muttered.

The book shoved forward a few inches.

"You're kidding right?" she yelled at the ceiling. The book thumped its front cover. "Ugg, fine," she flipped open the front cover. The page was blank. In fact, every page was blank. She was almost going to yell at the room again, when text began appearing on the page.

_ Love is like a friendship caught on fire - Bruce Lee_

_A true friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself - and especially to feel. Or, not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them – Jim Morrison _

_ We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone - we find it with another -Thomas Merton_

_ Love is like war: easy to begin but very hard to stop - H.L. Mencken_

_Love is a better teacher than duty - Albert Einstein _

_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage - Lao Tzo _

"What the hell?" Myka breathed. She slammed the cover down, forcing away the quotes. She turned the volume over carefully. A label was peeling off the back. She smoothed it out. _Lao Tzo's unwritten book of Love Philosophy._ She sighed, leaning back in her chair. Of course. Lao Tzo, the great Chinese philosopher. He'd died before he was ever able to officially write his knowledge of love. In the end his inability, he said, was due to his never being able to reach everyone in the right way. He'd wanted to speak to everyone's individual capacity of affection. _But why me? _ She thought. Did it have to do with her dream about Sam? Ugg, why couldn't anyone, or anything, leave her alone?

"I don't have time to fall in love!" she yelled. _Nor do I ever want to again._

x x x

When she finally dragged herself back the B&B a smell of bread and pasta sauce smacked her in the face.

"Whoa, is someone actually cooking?" she asked, peeking into the kitchen.

"Try, already did!" Pete smiled, carrying a pan of Lasagna to the table.

"Pete, you did this?" Myka questioned in disbelief.

"No! Leena did."

Myka turned around to Leena carrying a basket of steaming rolls to the table. "I figured we hadn't given H.G. a proper Warehouse welcome." Leena's smile was always warm and genuine. It was comforting to Myka somehow. She just always seemed like she really cared, and she really loved you for you who you were.

Myka smiled, "That's really nice Leena," she said, "Is, is Artie coming?"

"Oh, you betcha!" Claudia said from the living room, "I threatened his life, and more importantly his computer files if he dared to try and skip."

Myka laughed, "You're the best Claude."

"Well, yeah."

The atmosphere was unusually pleasant at the dinner table. H.G. emerged from wherever she'd been, and sat beside Myka just in time for the meal. Artie and Leena and Pete and Claudia were all laughing over some story Claudia was telling. The kitchen just felt warm for once.

"Okay, okay settle," Leena quieted the room, "Now isn't it nice to all get together once in a while?" Everyone smiled a bit to themselves, "Welcome Helena, " Leena grinned, "We're so happy to have you back in our family." Helena's eyes glimmered, but there was something else.

"And on behalf of all of us, here," Claudia handed her a small box with a shimmering white ribbon tied around it.

"Oh, really. You all really didn't need to do this. I mean it's lovely," H.G. tentatively accepted the gift, "but really all I wanted was to return, and I've done that so," she gasped. Inside the box was a silver locket in the shape of some contraption. _Time Machine_ was engraved on the front. She opened it. Inside was a picture of her with Myka on her first day reinstated, and on the other a picture of the whole Warehouse team. She smiled reluctantly, "This is too much."

"No, please," Myka said, "You deserve it."

She hesitated for a minute, before reaching her hands to her neck. She unclasped a previously invisible chain and pulled it from herself, revealing the pendant that had been hidden under her blouse. "Here," she said, pressing a rectangular locket into Myka's hand, "I don't need this one now."

"But, isn't this your daughter?" she whispered.

"She brought me plenty of strength over the years. Stubborn little thing. Now 'she's yours."

"Helena," Myka tried.

"I insist."

Myka looked into her eyes, deeply, for the first time. "Thank you," she mouthed, gathering her hair to allow H.G. to put the necklace on her. She placed a hand over it. It wasn't any ordinary gift. It meant more. It meant strength, luck, sacrifice, love. It was truly remarkable.

x x x

The heat was almost unbearable, Myka hated heat. Especially sticky, sweaty heat that she had to work in. She cursed at the idiotic location for a Warehouse as she pulled on cargo pants and a wicking tee shirt.

"Hey are you guys ready because…" she stepped out of the tent. H.G. was dressed in tan shorts and a forest green tank. Myka chuckled.

"What?" she asked, genuinely confused, "I _did_ do my research, this _is_ what fashionable British archeologists wear nowadays."

Myka shook her head and smiled. On occasion Helena's not to be helped ignorance of the 21st century was the perfect comic relief. And especially now, when Mrs. Fredrick's life was on the line, a small laugh was worth so much. "No, but it is what American filmmakers tend to think they wear, so you fit in fine as a movie star."

"Oh," H.G. sighed, "well I think I could be quite okay with that."

"A pyramid? Isn't that a bit cliché?" Pete asked, crawling through the partially caved in opening.

"Warehouse 2 was active in 2950 B.C, at the time pyramids were very much in season," The guide hollered, jogging to the end of the hall. The bricks were crumbly which made Myka anxious, but she lit a torch anyways. This mission was do or die for Mrs. Fredrick; there was no spare time to be afraid. _Mind, body, soul_ she chanted mentally. Warehouse 2 was full of ancient tricks and traps, the idea was to stay level headed and solve the puzzles.

"Myka!" she turned. Pete and Helena were prying against the stone doorway, but it was no use. It could easily weigh a few tons. If that wasn't enough, a splitting noise of scraping rock echoed of the thick walls.

"Oh shit," Pete breathed, "Mykes the ceiling."

"Yeah, I see that," she yelled, watching in terror as the top of the cavern drew uncomfortably closer.

"Mind, body, soul, mind, body, soul. Pete that's it!" she said, "This is a puzzle, it must be mind. We have to solve a puzzle to the stop the trap!"

"Okay, but all that's here are these weird post things," he said, "What do we," he tripped and stumbled, catching himself barely.

"Pete! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just stepped in this hole," he yanked his foot out. "Mykes! That's it! It's like that marble game at Doc's Toys! You have to jump the posts in a certain order until only one is left!"

"Oh, ah, Last Man Standing!" Helena interjected, "We used to play that when I was a girl."

"Great, here, help me lift these posts…they're heavy!" Myka called. She ran to Myka's side, wrapped her arms around a post Pete had just jumped and helped to carefully lay it on the ground. She looked up at Myka, her eyes were frightened.

"Hey, it's gonna be alright. Pete knows his games." Myka nodded and laid down another post, sweat already dripping off her.

They raced through the game until Pete was dragging the final post into place. Myka and Helena hit the floor. Myka covered her head with her hands, squinting her eyes shut and listening to the creaking of the ceiling get closer and closer.

"Almost…got it…" Pete struggled. Myka squeezed Helena's wrist tighter than she should have, but H.G. didn't seem to mind. She began to _feel_ the stone get closer and a nauseous wave of claustrophobia ran over her like hot needles. Helena squeezed her hand back. _If I'm gonna die,_ Myka thought, trying her best to reason with herself, _I wanna go this way. _She thought back to the initial statement she'd had to make when she'd joined the team.

_ Why do want to do this?_

_ I've seen so many tragedies. This is the opportunity to give back what's been taken from me. It's a world of endless wonder! Who wouldn't want that?_

_And do you understand the risks?_

_ Yeah, I do. But I think, if I'm gonna get killed by some magical artifact in the middle of some fantastic place surrounded by a team of people I love, that's a pretty good way to go. Don't you think?_

"Helena," she whispered.

"Y-yes?"

"I just want to say…"

"Got it!" Pete yelled, and suddenly Myka heard the rock screech to halt. She opened her eyes slowly, catching her shaky breath. Helena stood, so she tried to as well, but her legs were too wobbly and she started to stumble.

"I gotcha!" Helena said, catching her by the arms and dragging her into a standing position until she was steady.

"Thanks," Myka said, getting her footing.

"What was that you were saying?" H.G. asked.

"Oh," Myka said slowly, "nothing. Never mind."

"Alright then," the guide said, "This way I believe."

He led them through another doorway to a long hall with scattered gouges.

"Is that it? We just have to jump them?" Pete asked, running for the first.

"Pete no!" Myka yelled. Just before reached it it lit up with flames and something like blades were rushing side to side.

"Are you kidding me?" Pete said. "How the hell…"

"Helena what are you doing?" Myka hollered. She'd pulled herself up onto a high platform and was messing with something on her belt. Myka smiled when she saw it. Helena's grappler.

_I invented it myself_

_You were coveting my grappler _

_Keep it, you can owe me_

She shot it at the far wall, and it latched perfectly.

"Dang that lady's got some aim," the guide stared in awe. "And she's pretty hot too," he whispered to Pete.

"Hey dude, I actually got her first so,"

"You're both pigs and I'm interested in neither of you," H.G. called, almost emotionless. She secured the rope with a final tug and began to unclasp her belt. The two men stuttered awkwardly. "I thought you would have learned your lesson last time Pete," she grinned, and jumped, sliding effortlessly down the line.

"Come on pigs!" Myka called from the platform before jumping herself.

"Hey, you comin' man?" Pete asked. The guide had become engrossed in some hieroglyphics. He turned to Pete suddenly.

"Yes, of course, but ah, here," he thrust the key into his hands. "In case I drop it."

"Okay," Pete said, climbing to the platform. He swung his belt over the line and flew across to H.G. and Myka.

The guide slowly hauled himself to the ledge and began to climb across it. He kept hesitating though. The flames were climbing higher and higher.

"Come on, hurry!" Pete shouted.

He grinned, "Ahtum calli vay."

"What?" Myka screamed.

"Myka it's ancient Egyptian," Pete said.

"H.G., you said you spoke a little!"

"A bit, um, something about death."

"One must die," he called, staring them blankly in the eyes.

"What? No!" Pete yelled, "We'll help you."

"Don't you dare!" he warned, fire catching the rope. Before they could protest further he let go if the rope and plummeted into the dancing flames.

"No!" Helena screamed, dropping to her knees. But he was gone. Dead. Another one dead. On her watch. She blinked.

"He wouldn't let us save him," Pete growled, "Why? Why wouldn't he-"

"Hey!" Myka interrupted, her own horrors eating at her, "We have to stay level headed okay. If we don't do this now, Mrs. Fredrick could die too." They nodded solemnly.

"Okay," Myka said once they reached the next room, "this has to be the last challenge, the soul… Hey guys? Are you?"

Pete and H.G. were staring into space. Myka wanted to say something, but her vision was slowly blurring.

_Where am I? Helena wondered. Or rather, where was I? The room was trimmed with lace and frilly dolls. She looked down at herself, wrapped in layers of crinoline._

_ "Mummy?"_

_ She gasped, her chest tight, not wanting to believe it. "Christina?"_

_ She lit up. "Christina it is you!" she lifted the child in her arms, squeezing her so tight that she mimicked choking noises._

_ "Sorry love," she said, dropping her to her feet. _

_ "Mummy! Look!" she cried merrily, handing her a book she'd just finished._

_ "A Little Princess," Helena read, "a classic dear. I loved that story when I was your age." She smiled, "You're so bright."_

_ Christina giggled, absorbing her Mother's praise._

_ H.G. kissed the top of her head. "I love you so much."_

_ Christina wrapped her small arms around her mother's waist, "I love you too."_

_ The evening breeze was cool as it blew strands of hair around Myka's face. She laughed, tripping over her own feet. She'd never been much of a dancer. But Sam loved dancing, and they had the whole gazebo to themselves, why not dance? Her sundress rippled in the wind, she was lucky not to trip over it._

_ "It's okay. I've got you," Sam smiled, placing a hand on the small of her back. She leaned over to pick a flower. It smelled sweet and light like summer. Sam grasped it and tucked it behind her ear. "My summer romance," he said, getting just a bit closer. She rested her head on his shoulder._

_ "I'm a terrible dancer," she mumbled._

_ "Oh, I hardly think so. Like Ernest Hemingway once said,"_

_ "You lose it if you talk about it."_

_ Myka blinked, shocked. That wasn't Sam's voice… In fact it wasn't even a man's voice…_

_ "Bloody good author."_

_ "Helena?" she breathed._

_ "What who's Helena?" Sam asked._

_ "What, ah, no one Sam, I just thought…"_

_ "Sam? Rather boring name."_

_ Myka could see her image, but she wasn't sure from where. Suddenly their voices were meshing together in a loud mess of syllables. She tried to block out the noise, but it wouldn't leave. It echoed around her, until her head felt like it was in some sort of pressure cooker. She watched as the ground around her started cracking and splitting, staring in confusion and fright as the beach and the gazebo and the summer air melted around her._

_ It wasn't real_

And like that the scene was gone, but the floor of the pyramid was dropping away beneath her still. Pete and Helena were still caught in whatever daze had taken the three of them. Only by some tear in her subconscious had she escaped. She jumped the opening that appeared in front of her, shoving Pete off a cracked piece of flooring. He jerked and blinked.

"Whoa, what happened?"

"No time talk!" she said, grabbing Helena by the arm and shaking her. She was harder to wake. It was like she wanted to be in whatever trance she was in forever. "Helena, Helena listen to me please. It's Myka. If you don't wake up, if you don't fight this you'll die. Come on you know the right thing to do!" she pulled and pulled on her arm until H.G. jumped backward, glaring at Myka viciously.

"What did you do?" she spat angrily, "Why would you do that?"

"One second!" Myka pleaded. "Pete, the medusa!" He threw his torch for it, smashing the eye into a billion pieces. The floor stopped falling, just in time. Pete and Myka got their footing carefully and made their way to the steps. H.G. was sitting with her knees folded up to her chest, strain and hurt painting her face.

"Go on ahead Pete," Myka urged, squatting beside Helena.

"My baby girl," she choked on the words, "it was so real." She broke, crying and hiccupping on the stairs, head in her hands. It crushed Myka to watch her in so much pain, when the reality was there was nothing she could do or say that would ever erase that pain. That's what hurt most, just like when Sam had been killed. _Sometimes there's nothing you can do to save someone from tragedy._ How she wished she could protect everyone she loved, but she just couldn't. Somehow along her road she'd figured that out. But that didn't soften the ache any more.

"It wasn't real though," she said softly, careful not to step on any raw feelings, "It was just that thing testing us. It brought us to our happiest places and tried to make us feel comfortable."

H.G. sniffed, "So where did it bring you?"

Myka's eyes widened. Good question Helena. Thing was, that was probably why she'd been woken up. Her own subconscious couldn't decide or admit to itself what made it happiest. But why? Was it Sam or was it… No, now wasn't the time for those kinds of questions.

"The Warehouse," she said quickly, "the Warehouse."

They sprinted down the rest of the long and twisting hallways until they reached the center of Warehouse 2. Not unlike Warehouse 13 it was lined with shelves of seemingly harmless objects.

"I'll go check if there's an auxiliary switch," Helena said. She gave Myka's hand one final squeeze, looking her ardently in the eyes, and dashed down the stairs and out of sight, hiding her face all the while.

"Okay Pete, where does this key of yours go?" Myka asked.

"I don't know, he didn't say."

They searched the room, but no keyhole of any sort was in sight.

"Wait, Pete, look at this," Myka said. She'd found a wall, of sorts. It was covered in tiny holes, all projecting tiny beams of light from the outside. "What is it?"

"It's the constellations," he said, "but which star does it,"

"This one!" Myka exclaimed, stealing the key from his hand and jamming in a star. The floor shook, and they stumbled to the floor. "Well?"

Pete rolled on to his side. "It's out! You did it Mykes! How did you know?"

"They say your first instinct is usually right," she smiled. "What star is it anyways?"

He examined it for a minute, "Well that's Orion's belt, and it's the center star, so I think it's Venus."

"What's Venus represent."

"Well, uh, she was the goddess of love."

"Oh, okay," Myka said, trying to work out why that was the key to Warehouse 2, or why she'd picked it. It just shone the brightest, that was all.

"I can always count on you to make some impulsive and usually correct decision." Pete threw his arms around her. She hugged him tightly.

"Thank you for always being here for me," she murmured.

"Sure thing, Mykes," he answered, rubbing her back. His eyebrows twitched like they did when he got vibes, but Myka couldn't see them.

"Pete, Myka, come see this!" H.G.'s determined voice carried up through the open space.

They hopped down the crumbly staircase to the maze of shelves.

"H.G.!" Pete hollered, "It's kind of a maze down here we need some direction." They wandered a while longer until they reached the middle of the ground floor. She stood, not quite as tall as normal, and her back was facing them.

"Helena?" Myka said.

"I'm sorry Myka," she said, her voice small and fragile. The very tone of it, in fact, made Myka both scared and heartsore. Helena often looked so confident, so tough, so strong. But she could see better. See the hurt behind her brash hazel eyes, see the veins in her neck show when she was holding back, see the clench in her fists the way she did when she was carrying anger. It was all there, but hardly anyone ever saw it. Maybe it was because they were similar people when you got right down to it. They both wanted the same things, both had the same passions and opinions, yet still something was strikingly different. She couldn't touch on it though, for the life of her.

"Sorry for what?"

H.G. drew in a breath, standing taller with it. "This," she answered coldly. In a flash she'd turned, a modified tesla pointed directly at the two of them, her hand not wavering a bit. The aim was a dead perfect one, and in only a second she pulled the trigger. All the air had left Myka's lungs. Her eyes had gotten huge and stung dryly. But she only had a fraction of a second to register the pain and the betrayal among other jumbled emotions before a green flash enveloped her and everything went eerily still.


	4. Chapter Four: Not all Wonder is Endless

**Author's note:** Good news: this chapter is significantly shorter than the last. Bad news: This chapter is significantly sadder than the last. In fact I really loathe this part specifically for the emotion that is so damn hard to put in words. So, yeah. If this makes you really sad, I warned you. But hey, think about it this way, the faster I get through this, the faster I can get to the not-as-depressing parts!

Chapter Four

Not all Wonder is Endless

_If we don't end war, war will end us.  
-H.G. Wells_

In her mind Myka had planned the whole evening. She thought they'd return the cool dusk air of South Dakota at the B&B. She'd imagined she'd sit at the breakfast nook, have some tea, read, even take a walk with H.G. out behind the house in the gardens. Maybe even sit and watch the stars come out. Then she could show her that paper she'd found. She'd wanted an honest opportunity to talk H.G. To Myka, she was a puzzle she'd yet to figure out, but she would've leapt at any opportunity to solve said puzzle.

When the numbness faded and she could see and hear and feel again she sat up, instantly wishing that the feeling part could stay numb. Her thoughts pounded against the sides of her mind, composing what'd happened. H.G. had turned on them, for reasons unknown, but she was long gone now. Myka pulled her knees into her chest. She'd trusted Helena. Confided in her, believed in her, advocated for her. And now where was she? Lying sprawled across the hard floor unconscious and betrayed. Her jaw trembled as she laid her head down in her knees, trying to keep her breaths smooth and even, but it was easier said than done.

"Hey, Mykes, you awake?"

She didn't move or try to answer. Every part of her was sore from hitting the stone, but her insides were sore too.

"Myka," Pete rested a hand on her shoulder from behind, "listen, get yourself together. We can fix this. You just need to be tough about it."

"She lied Pete," she muttered, head still in her lap. "She pretended this whole time to be with us, and then she turned her back on us." She sniffled, her throat swelling, "How could she do that?" Myka lifted her head to search Pete for an answer, but he had none. He only registered the look of utter hurt and helplessness on Myka's face. And she realized that maybe she was taking this harder than he could understand. He'd never been buddies with H.G. per say, to him this was probably just another mission. Capture the bad guy.

"I just need a minute," she said, shrugging off his hand.

_"I'm curious about your motives."_

_ "Myka, I, I can't."_

Her eyes had been so honest, so glassy, she'd believed her. She'd fallen for the whole act. Every last little piece of the plan. She'd never been so manipulable. So how did this one damned woman from the 19th century come along and break her walls down so easily? She clenched her fists; she'd get her back. If nothing she was going to prove that Myka Bering doesn't get screwed over. The playing field would be leveled. She'd make sure of it.

x x x

They pulled into the parking lot of the Warehouse. Myka had barely said a word the whole way back. She just sat perfectly still and watched the empty landscapes blur by. Acheily she pushed the door of the door of the SUV open and stood, brushing the remaining dust off of her.

They were almost to the door when Claudia burst out of it, "Guys where's H.G. we think she might…" Myka stared at her, but quickly looked down. Her face was probably still miserable looking.

"Yeah," Pete nodded, "she's already gone."

"Shit, I'll go talk to Artie."

Myka stood like a statue, staring into the distance.

"Hey, Mykes, are you sure you're…"

"I'm fine," she growled, "Let's go."

In reality the last thing she wanted to do was hunt her down. Her immediate reactions were hurt, grief, and then anger, but the anger had fizzled out. H.G. was still a person, still a woman with more to her than imaginable. And Myka knew what happened to those who backstabbed the Warehouse.

"Maybe she did it for a reason," Pete said.

"Pete stop sugar-coating it, okay? We have a job to do, let's get it done."

x x x

The following hours passed in a fog. Every word she heard seemed muddled and everyone's voices ran together like ink on a wet page. The crisp lines blurry and grayed. Her whole head was a cloud of disarrayed information and opinions that at the right moments she thought could have strangled her. The Warehouse didn't used to be out chasing villians, it used to be about endless wonder. Where had the wonder gone?

Somehow she ended up in a car beside Artie driving madly towards, according to the GPS, Yellowstone. She'd never been to Yellowstone. Her father had said when she was young that someday they'd go, but he'd gotten sick only a year later. Myka remembered bringing books to his sidetable, listening to his weakened voice, still so full of life and energy, read her his favorite stories of grand battles and mystical worlds and time travel. She'd relished in every moment of those story hours, until he grew too ill to read to her any longer. So she would sit beside him and read her favorite stories of love and loss and survival and happy endings. And when he no longer opened his eyes or lifted the corners of his mouth in response, she'd just quietly hold his hand and sit listening to the radiator bang around. When he finally passed, she'd asked the funeral home to bury him with a tattered old copy of his favorite book. _The Time Machine._ It was his first copy, and he'd given it to Myka on her 9th birthday.

_"Are you sure you want to give it up?"_ The funeral man had asked.

She'd only nodded, watching the man tuck it gently under her father's restful arm.

"**Myka**! Are you coming? We have no more time!"

"Oh, sorry," she jumped, snapping back to reality. Reality, it seemed, wasn't much better than reliving her father's death. The heat was sweltering for the location, the wind was rocking the tall Seqouias, and every geuiser around seemed to have a mind of its own. She ran a few fingers over the cold metal locket. _You said it gave strength Helena. Don't let that be a lie too._

She followed Artie, who for an old guy, sure could run. She did her best not to trip over any of the scattered rocks and tree roots.

"Artie slow down!" she yelled, leaping over a boulder into a big clearing. It took her breath away, but not for the reasons she dreamt about as a child. The wind swept loose twigs and leaves around a crookedly tall Helena, standing with feet spread and hands grasping the Minoan Trident so tight Myka could see the white skin of her knuckles. She looked frightened, which would seem odd considering she had the world's first weapon of mass destruction in her hands, but somehow Myka wasn't totally surprised.

"Alright the game's over Wells," Artie snarled coldly. He pulled his gun on her, staring into her eyes, but yet he didn't move his aim. She grinned madly.

"You think that'll stop me?"

"Actually, yes," he responded. Myka watched in slow motion, listening to the painfully familiar sound of gunfire. Watching it fly directly for H.G.'s abdomen.

"No!" she tried yelling, but her throat was so dry all that came was a hoarse scream. _We aren't supposed to be the killers._ Wasn't viewing the bullet tear through the body of the last person she'd cared so much for enough? Wasn't the fact that the killer hadn't practically been her second father even a little bit better?

Helena stumbled back a few steps, but didn't yelp or fall or bleed. Instead, Artie did. Myka looked in confusion as the blood dripped and stained through his shirt. Watched as he fell, clutching the bloody wound, to the dirty ground. "It's the vest Myka," he choked out, "it does to the attacker what he does to the victim. You can't hurt her, you'll have to talk her out of it."

"Me?" she asked hystarically, "No, Artie, why not you?"

"I can't at the moment," he chucked sickly, "Besides, she seems to relate better to you. Maybe you can get through to her."

"And what if I can't?" she panted.

"Whatever you do, don't let her use it three times."

Myka nodded, but her whole figure was already shaking violently. If she didn't stop her, the entire planet would be destroyed. Everyone would be killed. That kind of weight wasn't comfortable on the shoulders of thousands, let alone one.

"Helena, listen to me," she began, still staying a few feet away as if distance was some sort of comfort. "You don't want to do this."

H.G. laughed, "I think I know what I want better than you."

"No, you are not a killer. I know you're not. If you really wanted me dead, you'd have let me die."

"Who said I wanted you dead darling?" she smiled wickedly. It made Myka's stomache churn.

"If you do this. I'll die, Claudia'll die, everyone will die. Is that really what you want?"

She shook her head, "This planet is undeserving of the treatment it's getting, and you, you people are even more underserving of everything it gives you. I foolishly expected the future to be a utopia, where man could figure out its bullshit and better itself. But instead I find what? Mankind slowly ruining itself, indeed society is caving in! Millions of people are killed in cold blood every day, every hour. And you all carry on with your lives as if you couldn't care less!"

"Helena, _I_ care."

"No you don't," she said, tears streaking her cheeks. She thrust the trident into the packed dust, sending a tremor under their feet. Myka fell, landing hard on her back. She struggled to get back up.

"Don't do this, please. There are so many reasons you _know_ why it isn't you."

"Myka! Look around you! This world is filled with hatred and greif and anger and sorrow and to the point at which its seams are exhausted. It need's a break from this destruction."

"Yes, the world is filled with grief and destruction and bitterness, it is, but you Helena, you're not, I know you're not," she gagged on the thick air, "Behind all the pain you're feeling right now there's more than this. You have love and passion and I'm positive that somewhere down there you know this is wrong. Look at me Helena, this isn't you." Myka was shaking even more now, and crying like a scared child.

"Yes it is," she breathed. She jammed the trident down again, but Myka manged to keep her balance.

"Myka! That's two!" Artie said.

"Fine," Myka spat, "_fine._ You want to kill everyone. Fine! Here," she shoved the grip of her gun into H.G.'s free hand, and stuck her forehead to the cool barrel. "I guess I was wrong about you liking me, or anyone for that matter. I guess I was wrong about you caring for anything. So I'm wrong! Shoot me then, kill me. The opportunity's here. So just do it."

"That's ludicrous," H.G. growled.

"We're all gonna die when you use that trident again anyway, so what's the difference? Except I'm not gonna stand here and give you the satisfaction of killing everyone on the planet without having to watch. I want you to kill me. But not like that, not like a coward," the words had become increasingly bitter as they sliced through her teeth, she was soaked through with sweat, but she kept talking, "Look me in the eyes Helena. Look me in the eyes and take my life from me. Do it."

H.G. hesitated, like she was looking for some reprise.

"DO IT!" Myka screamed, "Is this what you wanted to make me as crazy as you? Well, good job you've done it!" she continued. "But for the love of god just shoot me already." They locked eyes like they had so many times before. Each dared the other to make another move, but there was nothing left to be said. Helena's fingers tensed on the trigger, testing the feeling. So close, she was so close.

Except she wasn't. She let out a loud wail, sounding vaugly like, "I can't" and collapsed. The gun dropped and skidded away. Myka listened as she sobbed, curled up in a helpless ball of confusion. After everything she still felt pain for the woman. But she couldn't move an inch. She frozen as if she'd forgotten how to move or feel, all she could do was shiver.

She stood there for a long time. After she'd watched the regents handcuff and drag a still whimpering H.G. away. She stood there was the park slowly revived itself and Artie was taken away by an ambulance. She stood until dark fell silently over the horizon, blanketing her. She looked up at the stars as they appeared in the purple haze of a sky. Her eyes fell to Orions belt, the center star _Venus._ And slowly she was able to lug her limp body back to the car.

x x x

What did one put in a resignation letter to the strangest job on earth? She ran over it in her head, but no words would come. Not just those words, but any words. Speaking seemed almost out of the question, and being around people for that matter. She didn't want to talk to anyone, see anyone. She just wanted to get out of this life. If this job could drive someone as brilliant and empathetic as Helena to the darkest corners of insanity then she didn't want it anymore.

By the quietest hours of the morning, after she'd cried countless times, the letter was finally finished.

_Dear Artie, Claudia, Pete, Mrs. Fredrick, Regents,_

_ I'm not one to leave without a goodbye. But if I write it, I feel I have a closer chance of getting it right. I accepted this job because I saw a world of endless wonder - a place that does good. But with all that good comes a bad that wants so badly to fight its way through, and I guess eventually a person can get tired of that. After the recent events I've come to realize that all that responsibility, it shouldn't be resting on me. I almost the whole world get destroyed because I couldn't get my own thoughts straight. I can't let that happen again. Please know that deep down in my heart I will always love the Warehouse and everything it does. I will always love all of you, but I have to go for my own piece of mind._

_ Keep having adventures,_

_ Myka Ophelia Bering_

She left the letter on the kitchen counter, never reading it over, knowing she'd never stop finding faults. She wiped away the last of the tears before turning the doorknob quietly. Her bag was heavy on her shoulder as she took one last glance at the B&B, at the people she'd cared for and the wonder she'd seen. But she couldn't stay, she had a life to figure out. And the world was too fragile a place for an agent of her mental state. So half-heartedly she got in her car and left. Doing everything she could not to look back down the road before she turned the corner and her old life faded into the distance.


	5. Chapter Five: Lies Can't Hide You

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry. This chapter just sort of came out. But I basically cried writing it so... I mean, AS IF THIS FANDOM WASN'T ALREADY BAWLING ENOUGH. So, I'm sorry. Also note: for some reason the last paragraph of chapter 4 did not get in, but it is there now. So if you haven't read it GO DO SO. That's all. I'm sorry.

Chapter Five

Lies Can't Hide You

_Affliction comes to us, not to make us sad but sober; not to make us sorry but wise_

_-H.G. Wells_

She'd been gone for months now. The sluggish routines of everyday society had slowly become her new numbing agent. That wasn't to say that she didn't go through a significant enough amount of painkillers. She'd tried going back to the eye doctor, but her prescription hadn't changed. She drank plenty of water and had even changed her diet but the headaches still plagued her almost constantly. It made it hard to read; which was coincidently the only thing that could take her away from the lies and heartaches that described the life she'd built for herself.

She'd taken over her father's old bookshop in a quiet suburbia of upstate New York. Most of her regulars were elderly folks who stopped in periodically wondering what a 'pretty young lady' like herself was doing out there tending a bookstore alone. _You and me both,_ she often thought. Not that she'd have ever said it aloud.

Mostly though, the store was quiet and the days were slow. She spent a lot of time roaming the shelves, inhaling the old smell of musty pages and ink. That scent often reminded her of Helena, which only made her feel sicker. She used to love that smell. Ink, parchment, age, and dusty covers. But now it was just another thing _she_ had ruined for Myka.

It wasn't any Warehouse library, but it was hers. Every page of every book belonged there on its shelf, nestled comfortably beside its companions, and utterly lifeless. That part she could hardly miss. The way the books had wanted to tell her who she was. Here the books only offered stories. Predetermined endings with fates sealed in ink forever after. There were no surprises or twists for the characters in those books. They knew their own destinies from the beginning.

She'd settled in the apartment above the store. Spending quiet evenings reading, or more often just staring into space. Some nights it haunted her, others it was just tucked away quietly in her mind. But when it did come back it was all too overwhelming. She'd used Myka, like a blunt tool without any second thoughts. Her whole plot had been carefully devised the moment she first laid eyes on Myka. She remembered back to the times she'd first met Helena. The way she'd see Myka and run, not so slow as to be caught, but not so fast as to disappear either. She'd always seemed like she wanted something, but Myka'd been ignorant enough to believe it had anything to do with her. She saw now that what she'd wanted wasn't at all what she'd blindly believed. After all it had been a selfish assumption that H.G. Wells would ever find a friend in her.

"_The world is so full of hatred and grief and anger…_ "It echoed continually through her, in that damned British drawl. She knew it was all in her head, but it sounded so horribly real; like nails on a blackboard. Except it kept going in her head. How the good could never outweigh the bad. How strife was a battle last more often than won. How the good can call themselves so and so they shall feel, but they are forever hollowed by relentless fighting against forces not to be reckoned with. She threw the novel she'd had propped open spitefully at the wall, tears burning her cheeks. This world was so full confusion and missed opportunity. Of terror and false hope and things beyond the control we think we have. Alone was better. Alone she had no one to drag down this road with her. It was just her and the empty silence.

x x x

On a quiet Sunday afternoon while she was reshelving a few returns she heard the muted jingle of the bell on the door. She finished shelving the rest of the books and walked to the front of the store. There was a little girl with blonde braids and glow innocence about her, and just narrowly entering in front of her was a man, not very tall, thinning hair, honest smirky grin.

"Hi, can I help you?" she smiled, imagining in her mind that her life had always been this way, that she'd been a shop keeper her entire life. A quiet, keep-to-yourself kind of girl with lots of books and a cat and a little cottage with one of those jingly doorbells and a small little garden…

"Do you think you could recommend me a good book? I have to read one for school and they said I could pick it."

Myka brought herself back from her pretend backstory. No use in lying to herself too. Besides she hated cats and cottages and gardening.

"Yeah sure sweetie, just ah," she addressed the man, "Is there anything you need?"

"No ah, I can wait," he said.

"Okay, well come with me," she motioned for the girl to follow her. "Now is there anything you had in mind?"

She tapped her chin rhythmically, "No, I don't think so. What did you like when you were little?"

Myka tried to pick a book from all the ones she'd read as a child, but it was like trying to pick a needled out of a haystack. "How old are you?"

"I just turned nine."

Nine. She knew exactly the book she'd loved at that age. But she had also been an awfully advanced reader for nine year old. Regardless the thought of even touching that book made her nauscious. She looked over the girl. She looked so eager and happy and loving. And she looked up at Myka like she was someone to behold, which was a glance she hadn't gotten in a while.

"I think I know just the right book," Myka smiled, actually a bit genuinely this time. She led the eager young girl to the science fiction section and ran her fingers over the spines of each book, scanning the author names. She crouched all the way until her knees brushed the carpet before she found it. The very last copy. She dusted off the cover and handed it to the girl. "Here you go. _The Time Machine._ It's a classic, and very much worth the read, trust me."

The girl grasped it with all her might as if it was a treasure. "H.G. Wells. He was really smart wasn't he?"

Myka grinned, "Yeah. He really was."

"Here," the girl said, pulling a few crumpled bills out of her skirt pocket, "Is it enough?"

Myka gently pushed the money back at her, "Just take it. Consider it a birthday gift."

The girl's eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. They were so full of passion and ambition, much like Helena's had always been. Myka loved watching people do things they truly cared about. The way they would ramble about it hopelessly, the way their eyes glimmered and their smiles widened and their whole bodies reacted because _they just cared so much._ The little girl threw her arms around Myka's neck, being the perfect height while she was crouching, "Thank you."

Myka wrapped an arm around the girl, "You're welcome."

She left the store and skipped down the street in the spring sun. Myka stayed in the H.G. Wells section, reading over all the titles repeatedly. Eventually she wasn't even processing the words anymore, she was just seeing Helena's audacious grin, hearing her beautiful voice speak endlessly on some intelligent topic or another, feeling the soft touch of holding her hand.

"Excuse me?"

The man from earlier. Myka startled, breaking again from her monotonous daydreams.

"I'm so sorry," she stood, "Can I help you find something."

"Yeah…sort of. Are you Myka Bering?"

"Yes," she said, putting back the few books she'd pulled.

"He thought I might find you here."

"He who?" she questioned, suddenly very curious and cautious about this man's intentions.

"Never mind," he said quickly, "It's just, ah," he lowered his voice, "You're familiar with Warehouse 13, aren't you?"

She froze, her skin prickled over. "I'm sorry, no," came her rushed response.

"You're lying," he grinned, raising an eyebrow.

She turned from the bookshelf, a little awestruck by his sureness. She eyed him in disbelief, "How did you know that?"

"Just sort of a thing I have."

"Well, I'm not affiliated with them anymore, so whatever you want, unless it's a book, you might kindly leave my store."

"No, sorry. Listen this is important. See there's this artifact…"

"Listen, whoever you are,"

"Steve."

"Listen, _Steve_, I already told you I don't work there anymore. Figure it out with them."

"No, please," he begged, grabbing her shoulder as she turned to return the last book into place, "We need your help."

She was silent, completely unsure what to say. She didn't want to go back there. Couldn't they see that? She hugged the book to her chest, losing sight of the words again.

"What book is that?" He bent to read the cover. "War of the Worlds, classic. You a fan of H.G. Wells?"

"Not really," she said.

"You're lying."

This was heading down a path she had no interest in following, "I don't understand, I told you he's just not my favorite author" she tried honestly, careful to use the correct pronoun.

"That's not what you said exactly before. Tell me you don't _like_ H.G. Wells.

"What does it matter?"

"Just say it!"

"Fine! I hate H.G. Wells! Happy?"

He smiled, "No, because you're lying."

"What do want me to say that I'm in love with him or something?" Myka hissed, annoyed with his constant prodding.

"Actually, that's better. Thanks for telling the truth."

Myka stared at him dumbfounded, a few key thoughts crossing her mind. One, she hoped to god he had yet to learn the story of who H.G. Wells really was, and two, if this lie detector thing was real she had some serious shit to work out.

"Now listen is there any way…"

"If I agree to come with you will you stop asking me questions?"

"That sounds fair," he said.

"Alright, let's go."

x x x

The drive was awkward and Myka shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Pete was going to be waiting at the site of the artifact. She hadn't seen him for months, since she'd left without saying goodbye. Would he be mad? Upset? Bitter? She dug a few fingernails into the skin of her palms.

"So you're the new guy?" she asked, braving the silence.

"Guess so," he replied. "Wait does that make me you're…"

"I resigned," she said quickly, "By all means, replace me."

"Okay, but here's what I don't get," he said, "and I hope I'm not stirring up any bad memories, but why would you just up and leave a place so magical and amazing and so filled with…"

"Endless wonder," she murmured.

"Exactly! I mean, why would you leave all that?"

Myka sighed, trying to gather a cohesive answer. Internally she'd been fighting this battle for months. She'd switched explanations a few times, still never feeling like any of them quite fit. "I don't know, I guess maybe," she exhaled, "Look, the Warehouse _is_ filled with wonderful things, but it's also really dangerous and a lot of responsibility. And as someone reminded me recently, not all evil can be abolished… I guess I just go tired of watching all that happen day after day." She grew quiet for a minute, "Any lies?"

"No," he breathed, "No."

The building they stopped at seemed to be an archive of sorts. Myka climbed out, deciding it would be better to stand tall and at least act like she was fine and happy and normal, even if she wasn't.

"So why did Pete send you searching for me? I mean, I've been gone for months why now?"

Steve grimaced, "Whatever this is, it's got us stumped. He said you might know more about it."

They strode casually into the building, Steve directing her to the area where they'd been. When they reached it though there were a few less-than-friendly looking security guards in their way. Steve pulled out his badge.

"Secret service."

Myka reached in her jacket pocket, but all she felt was the empty cloth. _You don't have your badge anymore; You don't work for the secret service anymore._

"She's with me," she heard Steve say. Again she was zoning out, but thankfully this new guy grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her gingerly down the rest of the hallway.

"Okay, what is up with you?" He asked, dropping her arm before the door to the archive. "You're always staring into space like there's a ghost or something!"

She scratched her wrist, and stared at the floor, "I thought you said you wouldn't ask me any more questions."

"I did it's just," he sighed, "You're not at all like the way he described you."

"Well he hasn't seen me for a few months," she muttered, "People change." _Sometimes in ways you don't want them to._

He looked at her quizzically, but said nothing. The key turned in to door and he shoved it open with ease. Pete was rummaging through a wall of file cabinets.

"Oh good Steve you're back I just," he turned, seeing Myka standing in the doorway. His breath hitched, "Mykes, it's you."

She looked up at him, "Yeah, it's me."

"What're you doing here, I mean, I'm really _happy_ you're here…"

"I brought her," Steve interjected.

"But,"

"Wait, hold on a second!" Myka asserted, silencing the confusion, "You," she glared at Steve, "You brought me here on the false presumption that he," she pointed at Pete, "sent you to get my help when in _actuality_ he didn't."

"Well," Steve hesitated, "I guess."

"I thought you hated lying."

"I didn't lie, exactly. He did say you'd have been a lot of help to this case, and a few weeks ago when he was talking about you I remembered him saying your father had left you his bookshop in upstate New York. Look we need your help, and I thought I was doing the right thing."

"I don't believe this," she said hostily. She turned on her heels to leave.

"Wait, Myka please!" Pete grabbed her hand, "He's right. We need you. Don't you have just one last mission in you?"

x x x

"Hey Claud, you got that paper for me?" Steve asked, sliding into a seat opposite her.

"Right here," she handed it to him.

"Thanks," he said. "Hey, are you busy?"

She frowned, "Not really, I mean no pings no rouge artifacts, pretty quiet day. But shouldn't you be heading back to your mission?"

"No, Pete and Myka seem to have it under control."

Claudia laughed, "She was a pretty bad-ass agent when she was here." The smile faded a little. She pictured Pete and Myka the way they used to be. Travelling through the states, Myka munching on Twizzlers, Pete mocking the voice on the radio. Busting through doorways, fighting for the right thing, no matter how difficult it was. They'd been the perfect team, until…

"Hey, can I ask you a question about her?" He asked tentatively.

"Sure Jinksy, anything."

"See, I was talking with her earlier in the bookstore, and she was holding an H.G. Wells book so I asked her about it, but she got all defensive like she was hiding something. Does she have some specific aversion to that guy or what?"

Claudia's eyes widened, "Ummm, I really can't say anything about that," she spun quickly back around to face her laptop.

"But you said I could ask you anything."

"Well I lied!"

"But Claud…"

She faced him again, "Trust me dude, you do not want to turn that rock over."

"But why?"

"Look, some serious stuff went down before you got here. A lot of bad things happened and it was hard on everyone, and she had a lot to do with it so…"

"Wait wait wait, she?" Steve interrupted

Claudia froze, "Did I say she, I meant he."

"No you didn't," Steve persisted. Claudia mentally cursed herself for slipping up in front of the human lie detector.

"What the hell happened here? I mean, why did you just call H.G. Wells a _she?"_

Claudia picked at her fingernails uncomfortably, "Fine, I'll tell you what happened, but you better swear not to tell anyone I did!"

Steve slapped a hand to his chest, "Swear."

"Did Myka say anything else about H.G.?"

_"What do want me to say? That I'm in love with him?"_

_ "Yes actually. Thanks for being honest."_

"No," Steve said, "nothing else."

x x x

Myka'd forgotten how much she missed Pete's antics. The way he was forever thinking about food, or playing with an artifact, or making movie references that she never understood. But the ever-remarkable thing about Pete was that even beyond all of that he still cared. He, like everyone else, still had things that haunted him, still had people he loved, still got hurt. And within the sheltered life she'd built she hadn't come to realize that she'd hurt him by leaving so abruptly. Moreover she'd forgotten how much she loved the thrill of chasing an artifact, of solving puzzles even if they had missing pieces. She'd forgotten how it tasted to finally find the last piece. What it meant to see those happy tears in someone's eyes when you could tell them you found what had caused their trouble. She'd forgotten how real it all was. Life, it seemed, could never be as permanently predictable as books, because then where would the exhilaration or the mystery come from?

"I want to thank you for all your help today Agent Bering," Mrs. Fredrick's voice echoed behind her.

"Myka," she corrected, "I'm not an agent anymore."

"Mmhmm," Mrs. Fredrick nodded, "I'm aware." Myka eyed her curiously. That lady always had something up her sleeve, what was it now?

"Know that I am content with whatever your choice may be, but I want you to be sure it's what you want," she said. "I wouldn't want you to make any harmful decsions over one incident." Myka knew her job was on the table in front of her, taunting her, begging her to just reach for it.

"There's someone I want you to speak with."

Myka looked up to ask who it could possibly be, but typical of Mrs. Fredrick she was already gone.

"Hello Myka."

Icy shivers ran through her entire body. She swallowed hard. That smooth voice. That one that reminded her of ballpoint pen gliding across paper like an ice skater. She didn't want to turn around, she didn't want to move. She didn't want to believe her own confidence in the owner of the voice. There was no easy hiding place, and no way to leave. Effectively she'd have to speak eventually.

"Helena," she barely whispered, achiness filling her throat already.

"Long time no see."


	6. Chapter Six: The Ghosts of the Past

**Author's note:** Hey guys! Sorry for the delay, I was camping. Anyways, short chapter this time. Not much else to say... Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Six

The Ghosts of the Past

_Cynicism is humor in ill health._

_-H.G. Wells_

If she had to categorize her emotions at that moment they probably would've been as follows: anger at Mrs. Fredrick for bringing that woman here, confusion over what she could possibly ever to say to her, pain from the memories that stood in front of her eyes. But instead of filing them neatly she just stuttered, "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Helena answered curtly. A look of discomfort was crossing her face as well. Myka bit her lower lip nervously, unsure of what to say. "Myka," Helena tried again, careful to soften her tone and face, "you act as though you're angry; angry at me for what I did, angry at the Warehouse for what it did to you…"

"No," Myka asserted firmly, "no. This is not your situation to dissect and analyze; _I_ am not your brain to pick."

H.G. sighed, "Myka, you and I became friends because we are alike in many ways."

_I am nothing like you,_ Myka wanted to say, but she couldn't because she knew it wasn't true.

As I was saying you _act_ as though your angry, but I can see better. You look more scared, maybe even hurt than anything else."

Myka chuckled dryly, "Really? I can't imagine why."

Helena's glance dropped to her shoes. The air seemed thick in the small office, and the lack of background noise was insufferable. "I, I don't know why I did what I did," she choked out.

"I don't believe that," Myka said, attempting to keep her cold demeanor though it was becoming considerably harder with every guilt-coated word and gesture that escaped from the small and glassy-eyed Helena.

She looked up at Myka again, pain still dancing in her eyes, but lips pursed enough to hide anything else, "100 and 25 years ago I was a wretched shell of the woman I thought I was. I thought I'd lost everything: my home, my love, my daughter, my mind even at times. I felt like the world was a place where no matter how hard I fought the walls were going to cave in anyhow. It turned me bitter, like little tiny fibers of hate were slowly poisoning my blood stream until there was nothing left in my place but anger and fear," she exhaled shakily, "be careful Myka, hate so easily turns into fear."

Myka breathed in slowly, the pieces of the puzzle falling a bit closer to their places. A terrible thought had hit her in the midst of Helena's story. Recalling the look of terror and crippling anguish painted across H.G. at Yellowstone. Her snow white knuckles trembling on the staff of the trident, her terrorized eyes begging Myka to let her follow through, but also daring her to stop her at the same time, her stick straight posture that could've fooled anyone besides Myka who'd used the tactic herself many times to seem brave. In her own twisted way H.G.'s attempt at world-destruction was no more than a glorified method of ending her own suffering. A suicide that dragged everyone down with her. Except, maybe it'd been so because somewhere buried under all the fear and agony she'd felt, Helena had been silently pleading for help. Maybe the whole thing was just call for comfort, a call for someone to save her from herself.

"I would've been there for you, you know," Myka said.

H.G. nodded, "I'm afraid what I know now won't change what I happened then." They were quiet. "But," she said finally, "it can change what happens now."

Myka gave her a puzzled look, though the sentiment was slowly dawning on her.

"I have cursed myself every day for the things I did six months ago. Every morning I would wake up with scratch marks on my wrists from all the anxiety and guilt. It ate me. But when Mrs. Fredrick told me you'd left the Warehouse, that I had driven you away…" Her voice withered and died.

Myka shook her head, "You didn't drive me away," she said, only half-sure of her own words, "it's just, eventually all this," she looked out the office window to the rows and endless rows of impossibilities, "just becomes too much for a person."

"Don't be like me Myka," H.G. pleaded, pulling Myka's face back to hers without touch, "Don't walk away from your truth. Once you have it's nearly impossible to find it again." Myka wouldn't answer. "You belong here. The Warehouse is your home; Claudia, Pete, Artie, they're your family Myka. Don't run away from them because I did something stupid."

Myka felt like her insides were shredded. Her head spun. She'd dropped her anger towards H.G. and now that barriers were down Helena's words echoed through her like she was a hollow mass of metal. Her fingers crept tensely to the chain around her neck, the locket, bathing in the sense of calm she absorbed from the cool smoothness of the pendant.

"She does bring such comfort, doesn't she?" Helena whispered.

Myka did a double take, "I'm sorry?"

"The locket," H.G. pointed to it, "It isn't the first time since I gave it to you that I've seen you holding it."

Myka was befuddled for a moment, gathering what she was saying. Did she truly rely on a necklace so much? It'd just simply been there. That was all.

"That day, in Warehouse 2, you grabbed it a few times, unconsciously I imagine."

Myka nodded slowly in response, realizing how much of a security blanket she'd made out of the very thing she'd been trying to hide from.

H.G. pulled a pendant from under the neck of her own blouse, "I still have mine as well," she said, "brought me a lot of solace lately."

Myka looked over Helena's poised figure, tortured but still strong. After everything she'd most likely been put through in the past months she was still more concerned about Myka's wellbeing than her own. She felt herself unclasping the locket from around neck, feeling how odd the sensation of not having it on was seeing as she hadn't taken it off in months. The chain pooled in her fist as she clutched it. "Here," she said, stepping toward H.G., "you need it more than I do right now."

She thrust the necklace towards Helena's hands, but H.G. drew back immediately sputtering out a quick, "No." Myka dropped the locket in the palm of Helena's shaking hand anyway, but it fell straight through and clattered to the floor with a small metallic jingle. Myka stared down at it with a mixture of confusion and dread. Her eyes slowly lifted back to Helena's lost-for-words face. Timidly, Myka moved her quivering hand towards H.G.'s side and swung. Her arm blew through Helena's entire midsection like there was nothing there at all. She did it a few more times to be sure before looking into Helena's eyes again.

"Where are you?" she breathed, still processing the ghost that seemed to be in front of her.

H.G. laughed half-heartedly, "I'd give you an arm to find out." Myka looked horrified. She cleared her throat, "they can, it seems, transport my consciousness." Helena chuckled bitterly, "Wish I'd thought of that."

Myka knew well that H.G. was probably the last person to ever want her own discoveries or inventions used against her. At the time it sickened Myka too. Shoot a woman with her own gun, why don't you? But what was worse was the amount they were using her. She was probably being held in some secret Warehouse prison, but they could simply project her into the situation when it suited them. Myka did, and always would love the Warehouse; however she found a few ethical conundrums with the regents from time to time. For a brief moment she wondered why she was so worried about the regents using H.G. if H.G. had used her, but she had to remind herself why Helena had done what she had done.

Helena drew in a careful breath, "Please think about what I've said," her eyes begged more than her words.

Then, in a flash of glittering blue light she was gone, and Myka stood dumbstruck and staring into an empty room.


	7. Chapter Seven: Falling

**Author's Note: **Hey lovey people! A bit of a pick up after that kick-in-the-gut that was the finale. Not totally fluff, but we're getting better. At least a whole better than the past few...

Chapter Seven

Falling

_Adapt or perish, now as ever, is nature's inexorable imperative_

_-H.G. Wells_

Myka's return had been many things. It'd been an out of character hug from Claudia, who denied it later on. It'd been meaningful high-five and a, "glad you're back," from Pete. It'd been squeals, and handshakes, and a little bit of crying. It'd been an almost undetectable smile from Artie as he walked into the room with a file folder in his hand. For Myka it'd been putting her books back on their dusty shelves and re-hanging all her clothes in the small B&B closet. It'd been smelling Leena's homemade chicken tikka masala simmering the kitchen and listening to Pete's incessant joking once again. But above all the little things that she loved so much, it was feeling the smile return to her face, feeling that beautiful gesture be all her own again, that meant the most.

Myka felt the cold grip of stress melt from her shoulders as she sat at the table, glancing around at the faces that she'd come to realize were everything to her. _The Warehouse is your home; Claudia, Pete, Artie, they're your family._ Explaining her return had been…tricky for lack of better words. Trying to tell them that the very thing that'd driven her away had also brought her back would've seemed contradictory; let alone that that 'thing' happened to be the psychopath that had tried to kill them all. No, she reasoned, they could never understand. For a long while she'd wondered how Mrs. Fredrick could've ever known that Helena was the only one capable of persuading her to change her mind, but it gave her shivers every time so she eventually stopped thinking about it. Leena's easy, beautiful smile was warm and comforting as she passed the basket of bread to Claudia. Briefly she remembered the last big sit down meal they'd all had together. It'd been Helena's welcoming dinner. Somehow, though the thought wasn't as haunting as it would've been a week ago. She had quite literally made some form of peace with that past…for now.

"So Steve, " she said, extending a hand to him behind Claudia's chair, "I believe we got off on the wrong foot." He shook her hand firmly, "Welcome to the Warehouse."

"Thanks," Steve smiled.

"Ahh, to be the new guy," said Pete, leaning back, "I remember our first day on the job, eh Mykes?"

"Yeah, fun," groaned Myka.

"Whatever did happen to that ferret?"

"Ferret?" Claudia asked.

"Do we really have to talk about the ferret?"

"What ferret?"

"Enough with the ferret!" Myka asserted.

Pete laughed, "Myka was such a tight-ass she thought she was 'too valuable' for this job. She wished for a transfer on Beatrix Potter's teapot and…"

"Impossible wishes get granted with a ferret," Claudia finished, "Geez Myka, were you really that full of it?"

Myka's face flushed with embarrassment, "Excuse me, but in my defense I was in the middle South Dakota with an old guy who spoke in riddles about America's attic and Thomas Edison! Besides if you want to play this game Pete was the one who was confused by secret service protocol at that museum party."

"In my defense shouting, 'get back on magenta' is not the clearest order in the world!"

"It isn't supposed to be smarty pants. There's a secret in secret service for a reason."

"Okay, hush you two! God Myka take it easy, you've only been back a day," Claudia grinned. There was laughter and good food and late night conversations and childish games and for that one night everything seemed as perfect as it once had been.

x x x

The following weeks passed without much abnormality, well besides the usual ones. They had successfully snagged, bagged, and tagged Chester Greenwood's earmuffs from the thick of winter in Maine, Marilyn Monroe's hair brush from a bitter actress's trailer in Hollywood, and Jules Verne's original manuscript to 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea which had been drowning innocent readers in an antique shop in Florida. After all the travelling it was nice when Artie handed them a local mission, "Emile Kraepelin's ink blots."

"Emile Kraepelin, he was the guy who discovered Schitzophrenia," Myka said.

"Exactly, these cards," he handed them a picture, "cause a person's subconscious alter-ego to swap with their conscious selves. Basically you become your biggest kept secret or confusion or dark moment, or even fear."

"Geez, that sounds fun," Pete said.

Artie grunted, "But the only person who sees that version of themselves is them. Essentially you drive yourself mad from the inside out. There was ping at a local mental health center about 25 miles from here."

Myka took the address from Artie, "Let's go Pete!"

"Be careful!" Artie called after them.

"We will!" echoed their voices sloppily from the hallway.

x x x

"Pete, should we talk, you know, about my leaving."

"Oh," he shifted uncomfortably, "um, I mean we don't have to."

"It's just, I left you. I left you without saying goodbye, or even fully explaining myself, and then I just didn't call or ever come back or…"

"You did come back," he said, he hesitated looking slightly apprehensive.

"What?" she asked curiously.

"I mean, I know you helped with one mission, but that couldn't have been enough to make you change your mind." Myka was silent. "I mean, I know you Mykes, something else made you come back. What was it?"

She cleared her throat nervously, "I, um."

"We're partners Myka, you can tell me anything."

She sighed and nodded, beginning to speak quietly, but clearly, "When I got back to the Warehouse after that mission Mrs. Fredrick showed up to thank me. She said she wanted me to speak with someone, that she wanted to make sure I made the right decision," she froze a minute, "The next thing I knew she was standing there in front of me." Myka swallowed hard, growing a little bit sweaty.

"Who?" Pete asked, obviously confused.

"Helena," Myka breathed, letting the name flow into the open air of the car. Instantly she could feel Pete tense up. "Pete," she tried.

"No, don't even." He was abnormally quiet, like he was angry.

"Pete I,"

"Myka that woman ruins everything! Don't you remember what she did to us, to _you_?"

Myka's breath shuttered, and her eyes got slightly wet, "Of course of I do, Pete. I left."

"I know-"

"But I came back!"

"But Myka she-"

"No," Myka said. She grasped Pete's hand firmly, "I came back."

He nodded, "I know. It's just…" he swallowed whatever thought he'd had, "I know."

x x x

"Really?" Myka yelled, bolting down the hallway of St. Johnson's Mental Institution, ink blots in her bare hand. If she had the time or breath to turn and scream at her ignorant partner, she would have.

"The cookies were right there!" He hollered.

"I don't care Pete, I need a neutralizer bag right…" She stumbled into the women's room, avoiding the insane guy chasing her. "Damn it!" she swore, listening to the man's fists pound on the locked door. Pete had the gloves and bags, and he was out there.

"Sucks, doesn't it?" a voice asked behind her.

"Who?" she turned, gasping. Her image started back at her in the mirror, smirking at her. "You, you're…"

"Uh-huh," it grinned, teasing her.

"Wha, what sucks?" she asked, deciding that maybe if she played it's game she wouldn't fall into the insanity Artie had warned them of, at least until Pete found a way to get her a bag.

"You know," it said playfully.

"Yeah, getting stuck with a smart-assy artifact in a mental hospital bathroom, not the _best_ day at work…"

"No," it giggled, "that's not what I meant," but suddenly its face swirled, becoming stunningly more Myka, but sad, and ghostly. It looked like it'd faded, like it was only half there.

"What are you trying to do?" Myka asked. "I'm not falling for it."

"You are a ghost, just like her."

"Huh?" Myka breathed, wishing she could touch it suddenly, wishing it was real…

"Your Helena, trapped in that hologram prison. You are fading without her. You are fading _just like her."_

Myka found it increasingly scary watching her own image waste away in the mirror, she wanted it to stop. "No I'm not," she asserted, "Helena's fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine now. You're wrong." She kept raising her voice, without really realizing it.

The image laughed, but its face didn't move, "You tell yourself that, but deep inside it's a lie. _You love her. You always have."_

"Well, sure. I mean we're friends…" she counted in her head slowly, _1..2..3..4..5..stay calm._

"No Myka, you love her. You are_ falling_ in love her, like you said you never would again."

"No!" she yelled, "I'm not! That doesn't even make any sense!" She placed her hands over her ears, deciding she could take no more of its taunting. She tried to remember what Artie had said about it. _You become your biggest secret, or confusion, or fear…_ Her fear? Was it falling in love? Was it Helena? Why would that have to be such a secret? Why would she hide it from herself?

_"You cannot escape yourself…you cannot avoid yourself…"_

"Stop it!" she screamed, "make it stop!" she forced her eyes shut, willing the voice, the image to leave, but they were everywhere, surrounding her. Tears wet her hands. She grew dizzier and dizzier imaging sleep, imagining silence.

A sparking sound rang behind her, granting her wish for silence. "Myka, Myka are you alright?" Pete asked, lifting her limply from the floor. He noticed the tear streaks on her cheeks, she was trembling and whimpering, very uncharacteristic of Myka.

"Is it gone?" she whispered, not yet opening her eyes.

"Yeah," he said, pulling her into a hug, "it's gone."

x x x

Myka's eyes were tired from attempting to focus the blurry words on her page. The events of earlier had left her mind scarred, and her hands shaky. She slammed it shut in defeat, resting her back on the headboard of the bed. After her ordeal Pete had broken through a window, though she hadn't been able to hear it, and neutralized the ink blots. He'd found her a blubbering mess on the floor though. Carefully he'd been able to lug her back to the car, never once questioning what'd happened. Peculiar of Pete to not be insatiably curious, but Myka's learned enough times not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Her head was fuzzy and her eyes were blurring everything in sight, so gently she closed them welcoming the darkness. Grayed words were swirling in her mind, trying to make sense of one another. Myka had to keep reminding herself that the thing in the mirror had been herself. All those thoughts, though twisted by an artifact, were her own. _You cannot escape yourself…you cannot avoid yourself._ They rang an eerily familiar tone. _Don't walk away from your truth… _The voice sent shivers instantly through her. The expressions were so ridiculously similar. _We became friends because we are alike in many ways…_

Love is like a friendship caught on fire - Bruce Lee. The book, the quotes, they all flooded back without warning, but there other voices and images too fading in and out behind the words.

_"I think you're a remarkable woman Myka Bering. For the love of god, don't let me ruin that."_

A true friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself - and especially to feel. Or, not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them – Jim Morrison

_"What star is it anyways?"_

_ He examined it for a minute, "Well that's Orion's belt, and it's the center star, so I think it's Venus."_

_ "What's Venus represent."_

_ "Well, uh, she was the goddess of love." _

We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone - we find it with another -Thomas Merton

Love is like war: easy to begin but very hard to stop - H.L. Mencken.

_She saw now that what she'd wanted wasn't at all what she'd blindly believed. After all it had been a selfish assumption that H.G. Wells would ever find a friend in her._

Love is a better teacher than duty - Albert Einstein

_"Don't be like me Myka," H.G. pleaded, "Don't walk away from your truth."_

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage - Lao Tzo

_"Fine. You want to kill everyone. Fine! Here," she shoved the grip of her gun into H.G.'s free hand, and stuck her forehead to the cool barrel. "I guess I was wrong about you liking me, or anyone for that matter. I guess I was wrong about you caring for anything. So I'm wrong! Shoot me then, kill me. The opportunity's here. So just do it."_

The scenes flashed away the moment they were finished, and all she saw was dark once more. Only a few words echoed through her mind still.

_"What do want me to say that I'm in love with him or something?" _

_ "Actually, that's better. Thanks for telling the truth."_

Myka took a long drink of water from the glass on her nightstand, processing, or at least trying to. Her headache was back, but she didn't bother swallowing any pills. They wouldn't help anyway. She knew what she had to do, it was just scary, and stressful, and her legs felt like lead. _There's stress in any job, I like this one._

"Fine!" she yelled to her own voice in her head, hoping no one else in the house though she was insane. All the voices and pictures were too much at once, and they meshed together obscenely. Just when she thought she'd gotten it together. _Really Myka, do you ever 'have it together' in this job? _She stood quickly, trying not to get too dizzy, threw on a pair of boots and jacket and ran down the stairs of the B&B. "I'm going out," she yelled quickly, and left before she could hear any objections.

The Warehouse was unusually and chillingly still. There was no racket or panic or misbehaving artifacts. She crept up to Artie's thankfully vacant office, double checking to be sure no one was there and that there was no possibility of a Mrs. Fredrick moment (not that that was ever possible to guarantee.) She glanced at it, perched so ordinarily on the edge of the cluttered desk you'd never know there was a person in it. Myka took a slow, deep breath questioning everything she was about to do, everything she was about to say. She snatched it, running her hand around the even surface of the orb. She was still unsure of exactly what it was or how it was projecting H.G., but she knew H.G. was in it somehow, that was enough.

She gave the sphere a sharp twist, glimmering blue light flooded from it, forming the slightly startled and ever-beautiful form of H.G. Wells.

"Myka," she said softly.

"Hi," Myka responded, her voice sounding a little unsure of itself, "How, um, how are you."

"Well I've been better," laughed H.G. sardonically, "bit boring stuck in limbo prison."

Myka smiled sympathetically.

"So," Helena coughed, "to what do I owe this pleasure? Case you can't crack or…"

"No, um," Myka stuttered, "I actually just came to talk to you."

"Oh," Helena raised her eyebrows, clearly caught off guard, "sure then. I believe the right question to begin with then is how are _you_?" She asked this not like the typical greeting, she asked like she knew there was something disturbing Myka.

"Well you know how a few months ago when we were talking I said, well I mean I was talking about who you were and…" she fumbled, suddenly feeling stupid and childish for coming at all.

H.G. only smiled, "Who I was to you."

Myka cleared her throat, "Yeah."

"Myka, you can talk to me. Clearly you want to or you wouldn't have come here." Myka stayed silent. "I promise you can tell me," she said soundly.

"It was an artifact, or I guess it's been a few artifacts," she started, "They kept telling me that I, that I felt something for you, but not what I thought."

"And what did you think?" she asked calmly.

"I don't know. I really…admired you. I mean, you were my hero since grade school," she crumpled the paper in her pocket, contemplating pulling it out.

"Thank you," she nodded, "that's very flattering."

Myka pulled the page out of her pocket, handing it to Helena but it sliced through her not-really-there hands. "Right," she said, and laid the paper on the table in front of her. "I wrote this in fourth grade

. I was going to show it to you after Warehouse 2 but…"

Helena nodded glumly, but smiled as she read.

_Who I look up to_

_By Myka Bering_

_I look up to H.G. Wells. I find him inspiring to have written and imagined in the way that he did. His stories melded the fantasy of dreams with the possibilities of the future. Even in a time of great oppression in his day and age in London he still found enough fascination to write about these fantastical possibilities. It was like he lived in world filled with endless wonder. Someday when I'm old I hope to be somewhere where I can see as much magic as he seemed to._

"Sorry to have misgendered you," she said. Helena laughed.

Myka sighed, the contented and friendly glint on Helena's eyes giving her comfort, "There was a time in my life when I was afraid of you. Okay, actually there were lots of times in my life I was afraid of you. There were times when I thought you were a psychopath. There were times I questioned who you were and who you wanted to be. And there were times I thought I was afraid of you, but really I was only afraid of myself."

"And there was a time when I thought this world had only anger and grief and hatred,  
Helena said, "But you, you told me that people fought it, that it also had laughter and joy and love."

Myka shuddered.

"It's that word isn't it?" H.G. asked, "Love? Something about it."

"I just, it's scary," she admitted.

"What is?"

"Falling. The falling, it's scary. I've done it before, and I don't want to do it again."

"And you're afraid that you are falling for me?"

"No!" Myka said quickly, "No, no! I'm just confused, that's all."

"I see. You're confused, because I'm a woman."

"No! I just," _damn it, _she had no idea what to say. Everything she was saying was honest, but somehow the words just weren't coming to explain.

"Oh come now Myka, tell me that your 'confusion' surrounding me has nothing to do my being female?"

"Well…" she was silenced. Did it?

"Uh huh," she said, "Listen to me. I understand being afraid of love. On a good day I can find a thousand meanings to the word love. On a bad day I can usually find even more. There are so many ways to feel it. You can love someone by caring for them deeply and enjoying their company, in that respect I gather you love Pete and Claudia and Leena a great deal. You can love someone because you genuinely admire them or their work, like an author or actor. Loving someone doesn't always have to mean you want to sleep with them and things like that."

Myka's eyes widened at the end.

Helena chuckled, "You have to stop fearing it."

"I fell in love once," she said, "with my partner."

"Pete?" Helena gasped.

"No, no! My old partner, in the secret service," her eyes glistened, "his name was Sam. We'd been dating for a few years. We were outside after a reception, everything was fine and then…" he throat closed. "They found a ring in his pocket after he was brought to the funeral home. He didn't deserve to die that night. That man was after me, not him."

H.G.'d gone speechless. She reached for Myka's hand, but of course hers breezed straight through. She looked Myka in her tear-stained eyes. "That's love," was all she could say.

Myka nodded, "I promised myself I'd never fall again."

"But you have," H.G. grinned, "in whatever way you have. We love and we fall every day. You love your family, you love your team. I tried to tell myself I would never love again after Christina died, but I lied to myself too."

Myka looked at her.

"I fell in love with you Myka Bering. I what way I'll let you decide."


End file.
